


Queen of Time

by MissPennington



Category: Galavant (TV), Psych
Genre: A Santa Barbara Detective in King Richard's Court, Alternate Universe, F/M, Lassiter Needs a Friend, Lassiter's Stubbornness vs Roberta's Monk-like Patience, Time Travel, missing memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPennington/pseuds/MissPennington
Summary: Lassiter's carefully ordered world is put through the wringer when he's sent to pick up a woman terrorizing a nearby park with a sword.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shows up for the party three years late with a Galavant x Psych crossover that no one asked for. But I thought it'd be fun to see how Lassiter would do with a Roberta in his corner.
> 
> Set post-series Galavant, and an amalgam of the Psych timeline up to early season 6. I haven't seen all of Psych yet, so let's just say that any canonical errors there are part of my brilliant AU.

Queen Roberta nee Steingass strode down the hallway towards her bedchamber, frowning down at the dent in the cross-guard of her sword. She had the angle off when blocking the fencing master’s downward stroke this time. It was fortunate he hadn’t gotten her hand instead. 

Her husband had reminded her the other day that she never had to step foot on a battlefield again, but Roberta liked to be prepared. Even if it did make her a bit of an oddity. It wasn’t that women didn’t fight on occasion; it was 1257 after all, not the Dark Ages. Roberta herself had served in the citizens army at her village. But it was unusual for the queen to take part in such things. 

Well, at any rate, the balance of her sword was off. She would have to have another made. 

Roberta slowed her steps when she saw the door near the end of the hall was slightly ajar. A grin spread across her features as she sheathed her sword. 

She was almost meandering by the time she passed in front it, and even though she saw it coming, she still let out a girlish shriek when Richard flung open the door to grasp her about the waist and pull her inside what turned out to be a closet. 

She just had the frame of mind to pull the door shut behind them before Richard’s mouth was on hers. “Have I told you how much I love watching you practice?” he growled before kissing her again.

Roberta hummed what was meant to sound like “everyday” against his lips as she buried her hands in his hair. She loved his hair. And the rest of him. They had been married a year and still could barely keep their hands off of each other. Richard pulled her aside into alcoves or spare bedrooms or empty stairways several times a week, and Roberta wasn’t much better about pouncing him. 

He broke the kiss to pull back and look down at her. Roberta looked back up at him, curious at the serious expression on his face. “I sometimes cannot believe that you chose me. You have shown me love as I never thought possible.”

Roberta felt her eyes welling up and buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of her husband, more familiar to her than anything in the world. “I love you, Richard.” She pulled back to look into his eyes, both of them grinning like madmen. 

Richard’s gaze turned predatory, and Roberta was making practiced work of the stays on his doublet when there was a perfunctory knock on the closet door.

Richard rolled his eyes and threw up the hand that wasn’t resting on her hip. “Yes, what is it?” 

“Dinner is ready, my lord,” came the muffled reply through the wood. The tone was polite but disinterested. Half the castle had accidentally seen them either cuddling or kissing at one time or another. And one poor stableboy had caught a particularly inflammatory moment after Roberta had tackled Richard in the hayloft. He still blushed bright red whenever he brought either of them their horses. 

“We’ll be right there!” Richard responded in defeat, and the servant’s footsteps faded down the hall. 

He made to open the door, but Roberta hoisted herself up, hooking her legs around his waist so that he was forced to put his arms back around her. One of the many benefits of pants over skirts, Roberta thought. “We’ll be right there in a few minutes,” she said. 

“They can heat it all back up again,” Richard agreed, reaching up to kiss her again.

*******

Around 700 years, 2 months, and 14 days later…

Detective Carlton Lassiter barreled down the metal stairs, the entire structure clunking and clanging up and down the five stories. He careened to a stop against the wall on the landing and pushed the third story door open slightly, hyper aware for any projectiles coming at his head. The hallway was free of assailants, but one Vinny Cogniti, a small-time drug dealer who had decided to cut his cocaine with what turned out to be asbestos and subsequently racked up a small-time body count, could be seen flinging himself through another door at the end of the hall. 

Breathing hard, Lassiter followed at a sprint. The door led to yet another stairwell leading downwards. He caught the railings on either side and took the stairs five at a time, listening for footsteps from several floors below. The crash of metal against concrete told him when Cogniti had taken the door at the bottom.

Lassiter leapt the rest of the way down the stairs, almost falling as he struggled to get his walkie talkie off of his belt. “O’Hara! Where are you?”

It crackled back at him. “Cogniti’s apartment. Would you believe he owns three broken Addams Family pinball machines?”

“Quit sightseeing and get outside! The suspect just went through the downstairs door on the north stairwell.” 

“On it!” O’Hara said. 

Lassiter forced the walkie talkie back onto his belt and then did trip, falling forwards on the concrete. Cursing, he pushed himself back up and went to the door that Cogniti had used. Shoving it open a few inches, he eyed the room beyond. It was clearly some sort of basement, lit with dusty lighting from two windows near the ceiling, both of them so grimy it was impossible to tell what they looked out on. 

As with most basements featured in the culmination of a police pursuit, it was packed to the brim with junk. Lassiter could make out some old furniture, books, a bicycle, and an enormous water heater in the corner. 

His hand fell on his walkie talkie again, but calling for backup was abandoned when he heard the telltale sounds of a struggle. 

Drawing his firearm, Lassiter broke into a run, thoughts of Cogniti having grabbed a hostage or worse, hurt someone, thundering through his mind. He followed the noise around the corner, catching his foot on a cracked watering can and stumbling sideways into some boxes. 

There in the back was another door where Cogniti had to have gone. It was terrifyingly quiet now. Lassiter burst through, gun up at ready, only to find himself in a utility closet. And there was Shawn Spencer, the department’s so-called “psychic,” standing with legs spread and hands on hips. A dazed Cogniti sat at his feet, hands restrained behind his back.

“Hiya, Lassie,” Shawn said, grinning widely at the stunned detective. “About time you got down here. Might be time to hit the gym again, right?” 

Lassiter realized he was still pointing his gun at someone who was technically a coworker and re-holstered his weapon. “I thought I told you to wait in the car,” he snarled, stalking over to hoist Cogniti to his feet by one bound arm.

“And I did,” Shawn said. “For a five minutes. You didn’t tell me how long to wait, Lassie. You would think you’d have learned by now.” 

Lassiter stopped reaching for his cuffs to point a finger in the fraudulent psychic’s face. “You overstepped your bounds here, Spencer. Broken half a dozen regulations at least. I’ll see that you never step foot in the precinct in a professional capacity again.” 

“But Gus and I started a pool with the rest of the department on how many times you’d wear that shirt before washing it. You can’t get me fired just before I win big.” He made a pointed examination of the detective’s shirt, which was soaked down the arms and back with sweat, and then burst out laughing as he looked down towards his feet. 

Lassiter followed his gaze and scowled when he saw that he must have lost a shoe during his tussle with the watering can. 

Several things happened then. Cogniti either came to or stopped faking his dazed state, managed to yank an arm free from what Lassiter would later discover was Shawn’s belt, and used that arm to clock the self-proclaimed psychic right in the jaw. Shawn’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crashed onto the floor, out cold. 

Lassiter shoved the drug dealer onto the ground with a knee in the back and succeeded in getting handcuffs onto him. As he read Cogniti his rights, Lassiter glanced over at the fallen Shawn. He was breathing at least, although it was difficult to tell if he had hit his head when he also hit the floor. But Lassiter did not feel the least bit guilty for enjoying the momentary freedom from the psychic’s oh-so-witty banter.

******

Several hours later, Lassiter was headed into the interrogation room, eager to take some of his pent-up anger out on Cogniti, when the Chief’s voice halted him in his tracks. “Lassiter, my office, now!”

Lassiter followed, bracing himself for the inevitable dressing down. He waited in silence as Vic took a seat behind her desk and crossed her arms. 

“You want to tell me what the hell happened in that basement, detective?”

“O’Hara and I pulled up at the building where the suspect lives at 1300 hours.” 

“Following a tip provided by Mr. Spencer.”

Lassiter ground his teeth. “Yes, following that lead. Cogniti was staying in an apartment on the fourth floor under a false name along with several other young men. When he saw us approaching the door, the suspect fled in the opposite direction and I pursued. O’Hara stayed behind to secure the others.

“I followed Mr. Cogniti down the stairs and into the basement. When I arrived, I discovered that Mr. Spencer had disobeyed my direct order, left my car, and somehow captured Cogniti. No doubt by hitting him on the back of the head, so we can add reckless endangerment to the list of regulations broken.”

The Chief’s warning look told Lassiter that his voice had been growing increasingly louder and he made an effort to rein in his fraying temper. “As I was in the process of handcuffing Mr. Cogniti, the suspect broke free of whatever Spencer had used to restrain him and managed to strike Spencer’s face. With Spencer unconscious, I finished arresting the suspect and called O’Hara to get medical assistance.”

She picked up her pen and pointed the end at him. “Verify a few things for me, detective. You came upon Mr. Spencer with the suspect apprehended. You immediately began cuffing Mr. Cogniti, and yet he somehow managed to free himself and assault Mr. Spencer. Or did you spend a few minutes yelling at Shawn while Cogniti worked his hands free?”

Lassiter gripped Cogniti’s file, hard. “I would hardly call it a few minutes. And Spencer wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place if he didn’t ignore my direct orders!”

“We’re not talking about Mr. Spencer here, detective. We’re talking about you.” The Chief pinned him with her sharp eyes. “You are head detective of the Santa Barbara police force, and I expect you to be above reproach, not barreling pellmell after one drug dealer and then bickering with our consultant like a schoolyard bully.” 

Lassiter took a deep breath to avoid snapping back at the injustice of that statement. “With all due respect, up until that arrest all of my actions were completely by the book.” 

“Oh?” The Chief said, both eyebrows raised now. “So you called for backup before entering the basement?”

“I radioed O’Hara.”

“To meet you outside. This has been a real problem with you, Lassiter. You work well enough leading your partner, but beyond that, you only work with yourself. You’ve also become increasingly reckless these past few months, which I take to be from stupid, boneheaded competitiveness. Well, knock it off. Like it or not, Shawn is giving us real results and he is here to stay.” 

“So he doesn’t get reprimanded for his actions today?” Lassiter flung a hand over to where Shawn could be seen sitting at Juliet’s desk with a raw steak held to his jaw.

“I will deal with Mr. Spencer later,” the Chief said. “And that’s none of your concern. I’m sending you home for the day. And when you come in tomorrow, with a humble and contrite new attitude, you are on reduced duties.”

Lassiter didn’t embarrass himself by protesting further. Instead he nodded tightly and left undismissed. Retreating to his desk and trying not to feel like he had just been told off by the principal, he tossed Cogniti’s file into his organizer where Juliet would hopefully find it; he didn’t have the stomach to give it to her directly and see her cooing over Spencer’s dime-sized bruise. 

Gathering up his jacket and wallet, he turned and almost ran right into Shawn himself. Shawn smiled up at him in a somewhat off-focused manner. “Hey, Lassie, I just wanted to say sorry for catching your big bust. I didn’t mean to—”

Lassiter pushed past him. He had officially been forced off duty, which meant that he didn’t have to listen to any so-called consultants. Ignoring Shawn’s protests, Lassiter headed up the stairs towards the exit, nearly crashing into Guster this time. 

Guster nodded almost politely before catching himself and saying, “So, I heard you let my best friend nearly get a concussion today.” 

Lassiter took a breath to respond before deciding there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be ignored by Guster, mocked by Shawn, and seen as an attack by the Chief, so he just sidestepped the other man and finally made it out the door. 

*****

Lassiter went for a long, hard run when he got home, his muscles protesting the additional strain after the chase that afternoon. It didn’t do much to cool his anger and neither did the glass of whiskey he allowed himself with dinner, so he gave it up as a lost cause and went to bed.

Of course, even though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind wouldn’t quiet down. And soon enough, the anger turned towards himself, as always. It was stupid of him not to cuff Cogniti right away. What had he been thinking? He’d even been tricked by a suspect that he’d thought was comatose before. Stupid, Lassiter. Stupid. 

And then arguing back with Chief Vick like a kid. He should be better than this. 

He couldn’t quite feel bad for yelling at Shawn for breaking regulations though. Lassiter’s mentor had put him through hell for even bending rules. He was an officer of the law, and as such, was granted special privileges and rights, and God help him if he took advantage of those. That had been his first problem with Shawn. The way he waltzed through life as if rules were suggestions that he could just ignore and consequences were for other people. 

But no, if he were honest with himself, it was more Shawn’s attitude towards him that first caused the instant dislike. For whatever reason, Shawn had taken one look at him and decided he was something to be mocked. That his hobbies, his appearance, even his damned name…

He wondered sometimes why it bothered him so much. He was a grown man and had certainly had worse nicknames in his lifetime. But just the other day an officer had called him “Lassie.” And to his face. He was slowly losing the respect of the department and had no idea how to get it back. Was no one even afraid of him anymore? 

And that brought him neatly back around to his personal failings. The Chief was right. He didn’t rely on anyone else. He had become reckless lately. And he didn’t think he could blame it all so neatly on competitiveness or even jealousy. 

A hollow feeling ached inside his chest as the sudden image of Juliet pressing the steak to Shawn’s jaw and Gus blustering with protectiveness over his friend came into his mind. 

It would have been be nice to have someone to vent to about this. He didn’t really talk about his personal life with O’Hara, though they had at least become more companionable over the years. But she was dating Shawn now, as much as they thought they were being discrete about it, so she wasn’t likely to be a sympathetic ear.

Lassiter dropped his second pillow over his eyes. Why in the world did he feel so out of place lately? Would he ever have someone on his side? Someone who would defend him even when he made boneheaded mistakes or messed up. When was that day going to come? His eyes fell on the bedside clock and he groaned. 3:24 am. And when would he ever get some sleep? 

*****

1257 Anno Domini 

Roberta walked into the throne room following breakfast, reaching up in a moment of self consciousness to touch the top on her head. She had forgotten to wear her crown again. 

And now she was wishing that she had chosen to wear a dress into court rather than her riding breeches and leather breastplate. She didn’t mind wearing skirts and usually did so when functioning as queen, but she had hoped to duck out and see the blacksmith after Richard held court and it was so much easier to ride in pants. And now that she thought of it, wearing her sword was probably too violent for polite company. At least her knives were hidden.

Well, it was too late to turn back now. The guards were swinging open the doors to the throne room, and the herald was announcing “her royal majesty, Queen Roberta.” 

Roberta swallowed hard as dozens of eyes turned to regard her. She knew she was popular enough amongst the commoners, but she had never been comfortable around the nobles, even though she was of noble birth herself.

She faltered again seeing that Richard was not yet in the throne room. Schooling her face into what she hoped was something approaching queenly serenity, she climbed the steps of the dais and took a seat on her throne. 

When it became apparent that the queen was not going to give a speech or make any announcements, a noblewoman with an elaborate headpiece stepped forward. “Queen Roberta, I have a grave matter upon which to ask your advice.” 

Roberta shifted in her throne. “Yes, of course…?” 

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees it seemed. The herald leaned forward to murmur “Lady Constance of Culmington” in her ear.

“Lady Constance,” Roberta finished, smiling in appeasement. “But wouldn’t you rather wait for the king to join us?”

“Oh, no, my queen, I came to ask your advice. You give it so rarely.” 

Well, that smarted a bit. Still, she probably deserved it after forgetting the woman’s name. “Oh. All right.”

It was all the invitation Lady Constance needed. “Well, I was wondering if your royal highness has any thoughts on how to decorate a guest bedroom. I’d like it to be simple yet tasteful, but stone walls are so last century, so I thought I’d go with a tapestry.” 

There was a long pause in which Roberta wondered why in the world people wanted her opinion on such things. There was a time when she thought all monarchs did was raise taxes and go to war. But Richard got asked about everything from seating arrangements at dinner parties to alternate cures for leprosy. And he was good at it too. It turned out that the title “the One King to Rule Them All” had really been meant as a mediator in Richard’s case. He had already prevented two major wars in the past year just by sitting down and talking things out with all the warmongering parties. 

Roberta, however, had never been consulted on her own in court. And she suddenly realized just how long everyone had been waiting for her to speak. 

“Perhaps,” she ventured. “A hunting scene?”

Dead silence. 

Roberta looked around in horror as everyone stared at her. For a moment she wondered if she had gone mad and that hunting wasn’t even a real thing. Then it dawned on her. Lady Constance’s husband had been killed in a hunting accident the year before. 

She started to rise from her seat, either to go to the other woman or flee from the room, she wasn’t sure which, when at that moment the herald announced, “His royal majesty, the One King to Unite Them All, King Richard.” 

The crowd burst into applause, and Lady Constance gave Roberta a dirty look, as Richard strode into the room. Roberta smiled weakly as he took her hand and kissed the back of it as he took his throne. “You look lovely, my dear.” 

She fought very hard to keep from tearing up, the trauma from the last few moments vanishing in his presence. It would not matter to Richard if she showed up to court wearing full armor or just the curtains. She could not fathom how she would ever deserve him. 

“Running late this morning, my king?” she said. 

“Oh you know how I love sleeping in. One of the perks of being king,” Richard said before turning in his seat to acknowledge the court. “Right, then, who’s first?”

“Me, your lordship,” came a weathered voice from the back of the room. The crowd parted for an old woman, bent with age and clutching a cane, who shambled up to approach the thrones. Roberta could tell by the disgruntled looks that she was cutting in line, but no one dared speak up. Everyone knew that old women were either witches or fairies in disguise. 

Richard gave the old woman a smile. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

“Oh, it’s not about what you can do for me, but rather what I can d’do for you.” 

Richard’s face turned to stone and he rose to his full height. “What did you say?”

“I said,” the old woman raised a weathered hand then then thrust it downward. “D’DEW!” 

A cloud of smoke emanated from her palm, engulfing the crooked frame. Roberta drew her sword and moved to stand at Richard’s side.

As the smoke dissipated, a figure rose from its depths. No longer bent with age, but young and beautiful. The wispy white hair turned dark and silky. The splintering cane became a thin wand encrusted with jewels. 

“Oh, it’s Madalena,” Richard said, but his hand fell on the pommel of his own sword. “I had thought we were going to meet a real fairy this time.” 

“Richard,” Madalena said in greeting, her tone acidic. “You’re looking well. Not for long, I hope.” 

“What do you want, Madalena?” Richard asked. “Have you forgotten that I killed your master?” 

“My master for all of five minutes! But I have been training for a year now under the great and terrible DEL and I now have the dark powers of the universe at my fingers. You would be wise to fear me.” 

“By the way, have you seen Gareth and Sid?” Richard asked brightly. “They were trying to find you months back.” 

Madalena’s smug expression cracked for a moment, and Roberta was surprised to see real pain in her eyes. Then her mask of superiority was back. “All right, we’ll jump straight to the threats. Listen up, Richard. Are you aware that you and I are still technically married?”

Roberta tilted her head at that. The thought had never occurred to her. It seemed they had been living in sin for the last year. 

Richard was not impressed. “I would love to see you go and explain that to the Church. And even if you did, it’s easily annulled. We never even had sex.” 

There was some interested whispering among the nobles at that. Roberta knew the whole kingdom would know within days. 

“You can go to the Church or whoever you like, but I’m afraid that won’t be in your best interests,” Madalena said, running her thumb over the jewels on her wand. “Here’s how this is going to work. You will reinstate me as your queen. Kick that freckled thing to the curb. And I will rule through you as your puppet master.” 

“And if I don’t?” Richard asked. 

“Then I will erase your existence from the earth.” 

Roberta put a hand on Richard’s arm, despite his attempts to push her behind him. “What does that mean?” Her husband might be all bravado, or at least playing at it, but she had heard about the evils of dark magic during the Battle of the Four Armies. Undead soldiers controlled by the D’DEW. Gates hundreds of pounds in weight flying open at the wave of a wand. 

“It means,” Madalena said, fixing Roberta with a glowering stare, “That I have mastered control of time itself. I have seen the future and walked in the past.” She turned her eyes, which seemed to flash red, back to Richard. “A prophesy may have protected you when you killed Wormwood, but there’s nothing stopping me from taking this entire castle as my own.” 

Richard’s voice dropped to a growl—“Nothing except my dragon”—and then rose an octave as it always did whenever he spoke directly to said dragon. “Tad Cooper, here, boy!” 

The nobles as one decided that they had enough gossip to last until next month and exited enmasse at that. Madalena merely rolled her eyes. “You expect me to believe that lizard—”

She was cut off by an ear-shattering roar, and the smell of sulfurous smoke filled the room. The castle shook as something enormous landed on the wall outside the throne room. 

Madalena started back as claws, each as long as a hunting knife, pawed at the window. “Call him off,” she cried. “Call him off or I’ll kill you where you stand.” 

“What good would that do? He’ll eat you either way.”

Madalena whirled away from the enormous yellow eye that had appeared in the window. Her own eyes caught Roberta’s then, and there was nothing fearful or sane in them. She raised her wand. “I seem to need some leverage. Say goodbye to wifey for now, Richard.” 

At that moment, Tad Cooper, irritated at not being given a treat, lashed his tail against the side of the castle, shaking the room violently again. Roberta jumped forward to swing her sword at Madalena. Richard threw himself in front of his wife. And Madalena had time to call out “D’DEW!”

A flash of shining purple hit Richard in the chest and he crashed into Roberta, her sword biting into his shoulder. Roberta felt the magic engulf her. She could hear herself calling out his name in fear and horror, and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

The early 2000s A.D.

Lassiter returned to work the following morning and went straight to his desk. As expected, the Cogniti file was missing. Juliet had obviously come and gone. He overheard that she was out following up on a lead regarding the cocaine supply. Word was that Cogniti would be getting out soon as well due to the “appalling treatment suffered at the hands of the police,” according to the drug dealer’s lawyer. 

Lassiter pulled open his case drawer, scowling when he saw that all current files had also been removed. As if on cue, the Chief cleared her throat behind him. “When I said restricted duties, I meant including all active cases, detective. Time to get back to basics.” 

He supposed he should be grateful she didn’t have him giving out speeding tickets or directing traffic. “Cold cases, then?” 

“No, I need you to head over to Sunset Park. Apparently there’s a woman there who threatened a horse and carriage with a sword.” 

Lassiter’s vague daydream of investigating a fresh murder victim found in a jungle gym evaporated. Still, he knew better than to ask if a patrolman wouldn’t be better suited for this task. That would just be tempting her to give him a demotion. 

“I’ll head out now,” he said, rising to his feet and slipping on his shoulder holster. “It’s probably, what’s it called again, LARPing?” 

The Chief’s mouth tipped up. “Either that or she’s on some of what Mr. Cogniti was peddling.” 

Lassiter grimaced as he headed for the door. A junkie high on asbestos and coke was something no one wanted to see.

****

The sword-wielding woman was nowhere in sight when he arrived at the park. The horse and carriage had apparently vacated the area as well. He radioed dispatch and asked them to follow up with the driver before exiting his car.

Sunset Park was quiet in the midmorning, and he thought it likely that the prankster with a sword had run off by now, but Lassiter figured he’d better take a look around. 

He didn’t need to go far. Just past the first patch of trees, a woman was sitting on a park bench. Caucasian, mid-thirties, red hair. She was wearing what he took to be leather armor, with green cloth covering her arms and legs. Her red curls hung down around her face, but he could tell that she had been crying. And in her lap she held an actual sword.

Lassiter approached her cautiously. The medieval getup told him this was likely a case of overly enthusiastic roleplaying, but better safe than sorry. When he was within fifteen feet, he held up his badge. “Detective Lassiter, Santa Barbara Police Department. Put the sword on the ground.” 

The woman looked up with blank incomprehension. Her gaze traveled up him until it reached his face. Her eyes suddenly grew wide, then wide enough that it had to hurt. “Richard? You’re alive?” She gave a convulsive sob. “Oh, thank God.” 

She started towards him, letting the sword fall forgotten onto the bench. Lassiter took a step back from her advance, placing a hand on his weapon. “Hold it. I’m armed. Don’t come any closer.” 

The woman stopped. “Richard, what’s wrong?” 

“My name’s not Richard. Are you carrying any other weapons?”

She just stared at his face, confusion written over her features. Lassiter repeated the question louder, and she startled before bending down to pull a knife from her boot. He noted the fine carving on the bone handle with faint admiration as he ordered her to drop it on the ground. 

He approached her then, kicking the knife to the side as he did. “Do you have any ID on you?”

She looked up at him with furrowed brow. “Richard, you’re not making any sense. Are you hurt? Are you bleeding from anywhere?” She reached out towards his shoulder. 

Lassiter pushed her hand down, leaning in to check for the smell of alcohol on her breath. “I’ll take that as a no. Care to tell me what you were doing threatening the driver of a horse and carriage?”

She frowned in the direction of the street. “I’d hardly call that threatening. It was as if she’d never seen a sword before. I was only trying to buy her horse. And at more than a fair price.” 

“Why were you trying to buy a horse?”

“To cover more ground.” She tilted her head to look into his eyes again. “To find you.” 

“What are you doing with a sword?”

She reached for his shoulder again. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

Lassiter again intercepted her hand before she could touch him and made a decision. She didn’t appear high or drunk, but she was obviously confused. They could continue this conversation at the station where he could see if she was in the system. 

“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you down to the station to answer a few questions.” 

She balked when he tried to lead her back down the path. “No, we need to figure out how to get home!”

“That’s why we’re going the station. We’ll find out where you came from there.”

“Oh.” She twisted her wrist in her grasp so that she was holding his hand. “All right, then.” 

Lassiter fingers spasmed open in protest, but she was perfectly affable and cooperative at least, so he let it be and led her back to the cruiser. 

*****

Roberta had always relied on her ability to read the nature of a situation. This awareness had saved her life often on the battlefield. Sometimes she only had to walk into a room to feel if the people inside were hostile or friendly. 

But this sense, whatever it was, was now overwhelmed. While all her instincts told her to go to her husband, to hold onto him until she felt safe, her common sense was screaming at her that this man now sitting in the front of what he had called a car was not her husband. 

He looked the same, or nearly without the beard and long hair. She’d know his eyes anywhere, even at their most stern, like they were now as they looked back at her from the mirror hung from the car’s roof. And she knew the shape of the rest of him better than her own body, but his movements and air were that of a different man. 

Gone was Richard’s easy, precise grace. His regal manner tempered by good humor and boyishness. The striking difference of a stranger in her husband’s body made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. 

She met his gaze in the mirror again. “What did you say your name was?”

The blue eyes looked back at her. “Detective Carlton Lassiter. Can you tell me your name?”

“Roberta…Steingass.” 

He didn’t even notice the use of her maiden name, and she broke his gaze to stare out the window. 

Sitting in the back of what was called a car, which she took to be short for carriage, Roberta tried to take stock of her situation. She had awoken, terrified and shaking, in another village, a very wealthy one judging by the large number of colorful buildings with many windows. 

It was obviously a highly magical land as well. The car moved by itself with no horse! Colored light shone from everywhere, from the buildings and along the road on which they traveled. Roberta felt as out of place as a fish on dry land, but seeing magic raised her spirits again. Dark magic had brought her here, but maybe there was good magic in this strange place, and it could take her home again. 

She looked up at the back of Detective Carlton Lassiter’s head in front of her. And maybe it could restore her husband as well. 

*****

When they arrived back at the precinct, Lassiter sat Roberta down at his desk and placed her sword and knife into one of the drawers. There was plenty of room now that all his files had been confiscated, after all. Roberta watched as he locked it. “When may I have back my weapons?”

“That depends on how honest you are in answering my questions.” He opened a blank report template on his desktop and began filling out the basics. He caught Roberta watching the monitor with fascination and nudged the screen so that it was out of her view. 

He filled in her name and moved the cursor to the next field. “Your home address?”

“My what?”

“Where do you live?”

“Dragon’s Keep. In the western kingdom by the Reinskein Sea.”

Carlton rolled his eyes but laboriously typed it in letter by letter anyway. “Date of birth?”

“Sorry, what are you? Here, I mean.” 

“I was head detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department. Today, I’m an errand boy whose sole purpose is interrogating women with swords.”

“A detective?”

“People break the law and I bring them to justice.” 

“Oh, like a mercenary or executioner.”

“No, you see, the police operate—” Lassiter blinked, realizing he had leaned back in his chair and was heading into lecture mode. “It’s my turn to ask the questions now. Date of birth?”

“September 14, 1221, give or take.” 

Now he turned to glare at her. “Look, I don’t know if you’ve just watched too much Game of Thrones or what, but I can charge you for lying on a police report.” 

She threw up her hands. “I’m telling you the truth to the best of my knowledge! I don’t know where I am, and you don’t even recognize me.”

Lassiter took a breath and reminded himself that the woman sitting in front of him was obviously confused and very possibly psychotic. Although assuming that a suspect was just outright lying to him was his usual modus operandi, there was also the distinct possibility that she was an escapee from a medieval-themed cult.

Her eyes were starting to well up, and Lassiter shifted uncomfortably, out of his depth with crying women. “Look,” he told her. “I know you’re confused. But I will find out where you belong. You probably have family out looking for you.”

She smiled sadly. “You would think so.” 

He turned back to his computer to click on the next field. “What were you doing in Sunset Park?”

She was silent for a moment in thought. “It’s where I woke up.” 

Lassiter nodded as he reassessed his druggie on a bad trip theory. Her eyes were bright and clear, but he would check her arms for needle marks just in case. “Do you know how you got there?”

“Of course I do. In theory. An evil sorceress hit me with a spell.” 

Ignoring the way she kept looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to take some sort of action about it, Lassiter went ahead and included that in the report in case being “hit with a spell” was a euphemism for the latest street drug. 

Roberta frowned when he remained silent. “What? Oh, really, you cannot tell me that you don’t have sorceresses here. The carriages move by themselves!”

Beginning to suspect that this exchange was a waste of time, Lassiter tried a different angle. “Who is Richard?”

The question did seem to strike something within her. She blinked rapidly and dropped her head. “He is my king.” 

Lassiter’s cult theory moved up in the ranks. “And by king you mean leader of your religious organization?”

“No, I mean literal, actual king.” 

Of course. “And why did you call me by his name at the park?”

She looked back up at him. “Because you look just like him. Physically, I mean. I think you could even be him.” She was leaning towards him now, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You jumped in the way and took the brunt of the spell. Maybe it took your memories. But Richard, you saved my life.” 

Lassiter was frozen, struck by the sincerity and admiration in her gaze. He found himself wishing, just for a moment, that he had saved the woman in front of him. 

He jerked out of her grasp and rose to his feet, his chair scraping on the linoleum tiles. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “It’s time to fingerprint you.” 

Their ancient fingerprinting machine was in the back room along with the photocopier and fax. Roberta hung back as Lassiter fired it up. “What does it do?”

“It checks if you’re in our database.” 

It occurred to him that she likely had no idea what that meant, but she allowed him to place each finger on the scanner. “I thought you said that it could send me home.” 

“That would be the eventual outcome if it recognizes your fingerprints.” Assuming your home is jail, he thought. 

Roberta, ever practical, muttered, “This is a waste of time. We should be talking to the local wizard.”

Lassiter, who liked to think he was practical, ignored her. 

While they waited for her prints to run through IAFIS, Lassiter took her back to his desk to try a few other avenues. A quick search told him that while there were a few Roberta Steingasses in the country, the youngest one was 84. 

He had just finished typing her description into the missing persons database when Vick walked by. “Lassiter, a word, please.” 

He went a few desks over to stand by the Chief, near enough to keep an eye on Roberta, who was taking off her armguards, or whatever the medieval equivalent was. 

“Is that the sword-wielding maniac?”

“I don’t think I’d call her a maniac. Although she does have a sword.”

“Why is she not in handcuffs or at least in an interrogation room?”

Lassiter suddenly remembered that he hadn’t heard back from dispatch on the carriage driver that Roberta supposedly accosted. “I don’t think she’s dangerous. And she’s been cooperative so far.” 

“Be sure to put that on the incident report after she goes berserk and attacks someone.” Vick crossed her arms and nodded in Roberta’s direction. “So what’s her story?”

“She claims to be from the Middle Ages. Says a witch cast a spell on her.”

“Yikes. Is she screwing with you?”

“I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m not sure that she isn’t a cult victim.”

“Have you checked with the local psych wards?”

Lassiter shook his head. Roberta was very likely delusional, but that solution didn’t sit well with him. And he was hesitant to risk losing control of the situation by getting doctors involved. 

“Well, get on that.” The Chief started back towards her office. “And have Mr. Spencer take a look at her. See if he can tell us anything.” 

“Yes, Chief,” Lassiter muttered.

Time to test one of his shakier theories. Sitting back down in his chair, he held out a hand in preparation of asking Roberta if he could check her arm, but she put her hand in his before he could open his mouth. Looking away from her smile, he pushed her sleeve up past her elbow. He could find no needle marks, fresh or old, but she did have a few small circular scars on her forearm. 

“What are these from?” he asked, tilting it towards the light for a better look.

Before she could respond, his worst nightmare suddenly spoke from above them: “Holy Renaissance fair, Batman. What do we have here?”

The department’s resident fraudulent physic, with Guster a few paces behind him, had found them. 

Lassiter dropped Roberta’s arm as if burned and stood up so that he was on even ground with Shawn. “Spencer, couldn’t your skull have had the decency to get cracked hard enough to keep you out of the office for even 24 hours?”

“And miss your charming attitude and clever wit, Lassie?”

Lassiter felt a muscle in his jaw twitch and made an effort to stop grinding his teeth. He gave it up as futile when Spencer knelt down to be on eye-level with Roberta and put a hand on her knee. “But I see that we have a lady present. I’m Shawn. Can I call you Maid Merriam?”

Roberta didn’t seem to notice Spencer. She had been looking up at Lassiter, brow furrowed. Lassiter gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. 

A sly look came over her features and she raised an eyebrow. “Is this your court jester, my king?”

Lassiter didn’t bother hiding his grin as Shawn spluttered. “What? No! I am just a humble psychic medium.” 

Roberta crossed her legs so that his hand fell off her knee, but her voice was interested. “What does that mean?”

“I can commune with the spirits on the other side. They tell me secrets about things that are, things that have been, and things that have not yet come to pass.” Spencer fluttered a palm as if brushing aside one such spirit. 

“That’s from Lord of the Rings,” Guster muttered. 

“Silence, Gus!” Spencer said, rising to his feet. “I am getting a vision.”

He raised a hand to his temple, turning in a circle as if trying to get a signal on his psychic phone. Suddenly he cried out, clutching at his chest and contorting in his usual dog and pony show dance. “I feel sores! Horrible, painful sores. Smallpox! A childhood illness of smallpox.”

“That’s all?” Roberta cried. “Everyone had the pox as a child.” 

“And you caught it,” Shawn continued, pointing a finger down at her. “In Bangladesh!”

Lassiter gave Roberta’s fair skin and red hair a look. “She is from Bangladesh? And smallpox has been globally eradicated.” 

“Actually the last confirmed case was in Bangladesh in the 70s,” Gus said. 

“I’ve never even heard of that place,” Roberta said in obvious frustration as she stood and placed a supplicating hand on Spencer’s arm. “Please, ask the spirits if they can send me home. I’m not supposed to be here. Ask them if they know what’s wrong with Richard.”

Spencer was looking her up and down rapidly, eyes alighting on her boots, then her leather breastplate before finally looking at her face, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’m…sorry. They’re not telling me anything.” 

Lassiter decided then that he’d had enough of the fraud taking advantage of an obviously confused and frightened woman. He put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, putting a stop to his touching Roberta. “Come on, Spencer. You’re done.” 

Shawn allowed himself to be pulled away, expression thoughtful. He turned around to face Lassiter when they were out of earshot. “By the way, that getup of hers is period appropriate for the Middle Ages. Head to toe.”

“Are you telling me that the mystical spirits are saying that she’s actually a time traveler?” 

“I’m saying that there’s something weird going on here.” 

“Yes, a grown man faking psychic powers and getting paid for it by a once respectable police force is weird,” Lassiter drawled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my redheaded Bangladeshi Jane Doe who apparently is over 50 years old.” 

“I’m serious, Lassie!” Shawn called as he stalked back towards his desk. “Check her arm. She has smallpox scars!” 

“The name is Lassiter,” he growled back. “It’s not that hard to say.” 

Roberta grinned at him as he swung back into his chair. “You know, Richard, I’m quite proud of you.”

Lassiter paused midway through re-typing his login password. Why in the world was it so hard for people to get his name right? “It’s Carlton. I mean, Detective Lassiter…and why?”

“Because only a year ago you would have had a man like that executed.” 

“If only it were as easy as execution,” Lassiter muttered as he clicked open his email. A message from IAFIS was in his inbox stating that Roberta’s fingerprints were not in the system. The missing persons databases had similar results. 

Well, it was time to make a few phone calls, which he could not do with Roberta sitting at his desk. “Let’s get you some lunch.”

He left her picking apart a hamburger in fascination inside an interrogation room. Then he started dialing the local psych wards. The two nearest hospitals had not lost a woman dressed as a woodland knight, so he tried the bigger mental institution out past the Old Mission. 

He’d only gotten far as saying “Middle Ages” before the orderly on the other end of the line interrupted, “Name?”

Lassiter stopped tapping his pen against his desktop. “Sorry?”

“What is her name?” The man’s voice was bored and monotone. 

“Roberta Steingass. Or it’s what she claims it is.” 

The voice was still monotone, but it now had a note of urgency to it. “We have a man here who’s asking for her. You need to bring her here immediately.” 

Lassiter’s eyes closed briefly before he asked the question that he already knew the answer to: “Did this man give a name?”

“King Richard.”


	3. Chapter 3

Roberta looked up as Carlton entered the little room and smiled. The food he had given her, although very strongly seasoned, was quite good, and she was about to tell him how much she enjoyed the potato sticks when she noticed the expression on his face. “What’s happened?”

“I think I’ve found Richard.” 

She was in front of him before she knew she had moved. “And where is he?” she asked carefully.

In her world, he would have turned, put a hand on his chest and said dramatically, “He’s me!” Then the music would have swelled, and they would have sang a duet about finding oneself together or something. Then they would have fallen on top of the table intertwined. 

Roberta startled out of her fantasy scenario to find Carlton waiting for her to respond. “I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked weakly.

“He’s in a mental hospital. Come on, we’re going to see him.” He gestured for her to proceed him out of the room. 

Roberta did so, pulling away to head back his desk when he tried to take her out the front door.

Carlton followed her impatiently. “The car’s this way.”

“My sword,” Roberta said, pulling on the locked drawer. “And the knife. It was a birthday gift.”

“I am not having you running around carrying a sword. I’ll bring them both to you after we go and see Richard.” 

Roberta decided that this wasn’t a hill to die on. It wasn’t like she was unprotected after all. 

When they reached his car, she climbed into the front before he could put her in back. She glanced over at Carlton as he worked whatever magic was needed to move the thing on its own. His brow was furrowed and the muscle in his jaw was tight. 

Something about this didn’t feel right. What did feel right was calling the detective sitting next to her Richard aloud. It had felt right to touch his arm or grab his hand. 

Maybe it was just habit. He certainly hadn’t been receptive to her reaching out to him. No magically repressed memories had resurfaced, no matter how many times she called him Richard.

So what was this feeling of disappointment? 

She remained lost in her own thoughts for most of the way while Carlton scowled out the window as if the road had personally offended him. Finally, she circled in on what he had told her in that little room and turned in her seat to regard him with narrowed eyes. “You said Richard was in a mental hospital. What does this mean?”

Carlton’s gaze flicked over to hers. “It’s a place where people who are sick go to get healed.” 

“A healer’s? Is he injured?”

“Not physically.”

A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She suddenly gasped, “It’s an asylum! Richard’s not really there at all, is he? You think I’m mad!” 

Carlton held up a hand. “No, wait, yes, he is.” Roberta continued to glare at him until he sighed. “But, if he’s in there for saying that he’s from the thirteenth century, and you say that you’re from the thirteenth century…” 

Roberta just growled at him wordlessly. She had never been more angry with him in her life. Not even when he had joined the damned dwarf army. “Isn’t there anything inside you that thinks I’m telling the truth?” 

“People don’t just travel in time, Roberta. But they do go crazy all the time.” He turned his hand resting on top of the wheel palm upwards. “I promise I won’t let them just lock you up. We’ll talk with Richard, see if that doesn’t answer some questions.” 

The car turned then, and they were approaching a large building, taller even than the cathedral near her village. They stopped next to several dozen other cars, and he came around to open the door for her. Roberta waited a moment before deciding that it would be childish to refuse to move and got out.

Carlton walked forward a few paces before running a hand through his hair and turning to face her. “Look, what proof can you offer me that anything you’re saying is true? Besides the costume, I mean,” he said, frowning at her clothes. 

Roberta thought for a moment before she felt a sly smile spread across her features. Reaching forward, she dug her fingers into a specific spot on his side. 

Carlton jumped, letting out a high-pitched giggle that was all Richard. Roberta laughed, leaning back against the car door and crossing her arms. 

Face flushed, Carlton straightened his shirt. “Don’t do that again.” 

“I think that was enough to prove my point.”

“Because you had a lucky guess that I’m ticklish?”

Roberta hummed an affirmative note, thinking with guilty deviousness of other even more sensitive places. 

Whatever response he was about to give her was lost as a man in white suddenly stepped out from behind one of the trees that marked the pathway up to the front door, startling them both. “Roberta Steingass. Richard has been waiting for you. Come with me.” 

Roberta took a breath to calm her racing heart as Carlton relaxed the hand that had been going for his weapon. She moved past him to follow the man, whose gait and pallor told her he was a member of the undead. It seemed Neo of Sporin wasn’t the only healer who dabbled in such things. She kept her distance though. She had heard what had happened with Galavant’s undead army. 

Carlton fell into step beside her as they entered a sparse garden. “There’s something odd about him,” he muttered. 

“He looks fairly typical to me. They don’t usually talk though.” 

He grabbed her elbow and hissed at her, “You’ve been in one of these institutions before?”

“Not an asylum! But I have been to a healer’s, you know.” 

The walking dead man led them through a side door and down some stairs to a long hallway lined on each side with doors. Roberta wrinkled her nose at some of the smells in the air. 

Carlton tried asking a few questions about when Richard had been brought in and whether they should check in at the front desk but received monosyllabic responses. His hand stayed near his weapon now. 

They reached a door at the end of the hall, which the undead man opened and then stood aside. “In there,” he groaned. 

Carlton had pushed the leather strap off of his weapon. “Like hell we’re going in there,” he said, nodding at the darkness beyond the door. His paused and his eyes narrowed, focusing on something inside the room. 

Roberta, going up on her toes to see over his shoulder, almost missed the undead servant reaching behind the door. As it was, she turned just in time to see it pull out a long metal rod and swing it down towards Carlton’s head. 

Roberta reached into her hair for the small knife she kept looped behind her braids. It was a very thin blade made for sticking between the links in chainmail, so it broke as soon as it made contact with the metal rod, but it was enough to push it to the side so it hit the floor. 

Her momentum had her crashing into Carlton’s back, sending them both staggering into the room. The undead servant started to push close the door. 

Carlton recovered first, racing over and throwing his weight against the door. The dead man on the other side groaned, and there was the screeching of metal from out in the hallway. 

Roberta caught herself against the wall and let out a gasp as she saw a huddled figure in the corner. “Richard?” She ran over, dropping to her knees and reaching out a hand.

Instead of a warm body, or heaven help her, even a cold one, her hands pressed into nothing but cloth. Frowning, she pulled open the rags where the head would be and found only old clothes bundled together in the shape of a man. 

Letting out a relieved breath, she pushed herself to her feet and turned towards Carlton. He was pushing hard against the door, grunting, “He’s pushed a wheelchair against the other side!” 

Roberta leant her weight into the door next to him. The musty window on the door showed the undead man was now limping down the hall. She pushed harder.

With agonizing slowness the wheeled chair which had been placed sideways beneath the handle was forced backwards until they could squeeze through the door. Roberta pelted after the dead man, Carlton letting out a curse as he followed.

They ran side by side down the hall, Roberta letting out a laugh at the joy of the pursuit. Carlton gave her an incredulous look as they rounded the corner. 

The undead servant was waiting for them on the other side, and now it had a scalpel.

Carlton drew his weapon. “Drop it.” 

“You don’t need your sword, Roberta,” Roberta muttered to him, voice pitched low in mockery.

“The last thing I need is two psychos with knives,” Carlton said back. He gestured towards the floor. “Put down the scalpel or I will shoot.”

The undead man stared back without expression. His balance wavered. 

Remembering her time with the undead army, Roberta hummed a few bars from her duet with Richard. It didn’t seem to phase the dead man. “For true love?” she tried hesitantly.

Those seemed to be the magic words. Unfortunately, it was evil magic. 

The undead servant lunged at them, scalpel swinging. Carlton used the hand not holding his weapon to grab its arm, throwing it off balance and to the floor. Roberta was on top of it in an instant, placing a knee on its back to keep it down while Carlton restrained it. 

He grunted as he turned the undead servant over. “You are under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in the court of law.” 

He tried to haul it to its feet, but its limbs only flopped without coordination. Roberta grabbed its other arm and helped Carlton to raise the man upright. “There was no Richard here, was there?” she asked, voice tight with effort. 

The undead servant moaned out, “No. She told me to say it.”

“Who did?” Carlton asked.

His filmy eyes were focused on somewhere far away. “She was so pretty.” Then the irises flashed red, just for a moment, and he went entirely limp. Carlton and Roberta were jerked forward as the body fell to the ground in a heap.

The detective knelt by its side, placing a hand to its throat. “He’s dead.”

“Well, more so now.” Roberta nudged the body with one foot.

Carlton’s head dropped forward and he swore softly. “This is going to mean so much paperwork.” 

*****

Several hours of fruitlessly questioning hospital staff revealed that there were no patients named Richard currently committed at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital and there hadn’t been for over a year. Lassiter asked to view the records of the last few Richards just in case, but Roberta barely glanced at them, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. 

The orderly who had attacked them did work for the hospital, and other than what the doctors had called a “hygiene problem” that had started the week before, he had been a model employee. 

Then the coroner arrived hours late, couldn’t find a cause of death, and had given a completely inaccurate time of death, all of which Lassiter fully intended to speak strongly about in his report. This one was going to be a joy to write, and right after the whole Cogniti debacle. The Chief would have his head.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” he said as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. 

Roberta made a noncommittal sound. A small smile played across her lips. 

Grateful that the pensive expression that had been on her face all afternoon had gone, Lassiter made a show of scowling at her. “You find that funny?”

“I was only thinking of how good it was for the two of us to fight together.” 

He had noticed the ease with which they took down the orderly as well. Plus there had been that moment when they were running side by side down the hall, her strides sure and strong as she had kept pace with him; the exhilaration in his chest had been something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

But that reminded him. “So when I asked you in the park if you were carrying any other weapons, did that one in your hair not count?” 

She laughed. “You can’t expect me to go about unprotected. I haven’t been outside without some manner of weapon since I was thirteen.”

“How many more do you have on you?”

She undid the ties on her armguards and pulled out another small knife in a single motion. “Just one.” 

Lassiter sighed. “I’m getting old.” 

“Not at all, my king! Merely forgetful.” 

“As if that’s any better.” He had only caught the moment after she had blocked the orderly from braining him with the IV pole, but she clearly had training. His old list of theories came back to him. Was it possible she was a brainwashed federal agent? How would he even go about contacting the feds to ask? 

Lassiter moved away from that train of thought, recognizing the unlikeliness of that particular theory. “Are you disappointed? That we didn’t find Richard.” 

She shook her head, her red hair brushing against the back of the seat. “I never expected to find him there.” 

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned in his seat, taking her hands. “Look, Roberta, I’m not this king you seem to think I am. I don’t have amnesia, and I’m not from the Middle Ages. I’m a divorced cop who’s disliked by his boss and his coworkers. Most of my cases get solved by a man-child claiming to be a psychic who gave me a nickname after a dog on TV. I’m not heroic or self-sacrificing or—”

Lassiter choked off the rest of his speech, mortified that his attempt to bring Roberta to her senses had ended as a laundry list of his insecurities.

Roberta brushed a hand through his hair, and he flinched. She repeated the motion, this time cupping his face. “Oh, Richard, you always have trouble believing in yourself. No matter what world you’re in.” She tilted his face up to meet her eyes. “It is my deepest regret that I doubted you when it really mattered and ran away instead of fighting at your side. I will not make that mistake again.”

Struck by the utter trust and hope shining out of her eyes, Lassiter remained frozen, all his senses riveted on the feeling of her hand on his skin. 

His phone rang, startling her. Clearing his throat, Lassiter pulled away to yank it out of his pocket and saw that it was the Chief. He would have to explain just how his arresting a man had led to his untimely death. 

But first he had to find someplace to put Roberta up for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read, reviewed, and given kudos so far! I'm so excited that this super niche story found an audience.   
> And now on to my favorite chapter so far. Juliet is so much fun to write, you guys.

Juliet O’Hara darted around her living room, clicking on electronic tea lights and dropping them back down into their little jars. Sure, they weren’t as romantic as real candles, but they still looked nice. Besides, Shawn wouldn’t notice, especially once he got a good look at her new nightgown. Demure from the front, but with a sexy slit up the side. 

They had been dating for two months, and things had been going surprisingly well. Shawn had been cool about the whole keeping it more or less on the down low thing, and he could be really sweet once he stopped flirting with anything that moved. 

In fact, she was hoping that he’d stay the night for the first time. Hence the candles and new pajamas.

There was a knock at the door, and Juliet gave her appearance a giddy smile in the mirror over her couch. Her hair was still holding its waves, and her makeup was on point. 

She flung open the door, leaning casually against its side and tilting her head so that her hair fell over her shoulder. 

“Really, O’Hara?” 

That was not the voice she had been expecting to hear. “Carlton,” she hissed, crossing her arms self-consciously. “What are you doing here!” 

“I need a favor.” He shifted slightly, and she could now see a redheaded woman peering over his shoulder with open curiosity. 

Seeing all her dreams for the evening vanish in the face of her partner’s determined look, Juliet stepped aside so that he and the mystery woman could enter her apartment. 

“You could have called,” she muttered, hitting a button on her remote to stop the soft music filtering out of her speaker system. 

“I was too busy getting my ear talked off by the Chief.”

Juliet turned to ask him what about and suddenly recognized his guest and her medieval getup for the first time. “Is that—?”

“The sword-wielding maniac,” Carlton finished dryly.

“I can hear you, you know,” the woman said before turning her attention to Juliet. “My name is Roberta.” 

“Hi,” Juliet said weakly, still looking her up and down. 

It wasn’t so much that she had been brought in for attacking someone with a sword, or so word around the station was. You got wackos and oddities all the time when you worked with SBPD. But when Juliet had run into the station around eleven to pick up some files, bracing herself to fend off Carlton’s demands for updates on their cases after the Chief had put him in timeout, he hadn’t even noticed her. He had been sitting at his desk with this woman. She’d had her hand on his arm. Juliet hadn’t gone up to talk with him, feeling uncertain about breaking whatever energy was going on there. 

And now Roberta was in her apartment, looking curiously at the tea lights on the coffee table. 

“I need you to put her up for the night,” Carlton said. 

Juliet, already mentally writing Shaun a text message—she could not imagine the horrors of him running into Carlton in the hall—gave one final effort before abandoning her plans for the evening. “Shouldn’t she be, you know—” she spoke out of the corner of her mouth “—at the station?”

“She’s not dangerous. I promise,” he said with absolute conviction.

Recognizing the the set of his jaw, Juliet sighed. “I’ll make up the couch.” 

She headed down the hall to the closet where she kept her sheets and blankets, stopping by her bedroom on the way to text Shawn their code, “Lassie alert.” 

Shawn sent back an immediate frownie face, followed by “Miss u.”

Reminding herself that Lassiter was her partner, that he had saved her life multiple times, and that one botched date night was not a good enough reason to murder him, she started back to the living room. Carlton was standing well into Roberta’s personal space and speaking quietly to her, so Juliet paused in the entrance and watched with interest. 

“It’s just the night,” he was saying, voice soft and very un-Lassiter-like.

“What if something happens?” Roberta responded.

“Nothing is going to happen. I left you in the interrogation room earlier and nothing happened.”

“Yes, but that was before an undead orderly swung a rod at your head!” 

“That was a fluke—” he paused, frowning at her. “Wait, undead? You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know right now. I’ll be back in the morning. You can trust Juliet. She’s a good cop.”

Roberta took his hand, and Juliet’s eyebrows raised when Carlton didn’t pull away. “I will trust her if you do.” 

Juliet slowly backed out of the room and then walked briskly back in, holding up the blanket and sheet. “These should fit the couch okay.” 

She had the very great reward of watching Carlton spring back from Roberta. Juliet smiled to herself. Saying that she was a good cop was the highest praise she could get from him, but if she wasn’t getting any tonight, then neither was he. 

Carlton all but ran for the door after that. Juliet followed him out. “Seriously, Carlton, what’s her deal? Do I need to sleep with a gun under my pillow or what?”

“I meant it when I said she isn’t dangerous. She’s just…” he trailed off, searching for a suitable word.

Juliet took pity on him. “I’ll bring her by the station in the morning.”

“Thanks, O’Hara, I owe you one.” He gave her outfit a disapproving look. “Even if I likely did you a favor.”

There was no bluffing her way out of the candles and music, but her pride demanded that she try to salvage the gown. “I always sleep like this. I’ve owned this thing for years.”

“The tag’s still on the back,” Carlton called as he headed down the hall.

Juliet reached over her shoulder and scowled as she yanked the tag free. 

Stepping back into the room, she sat down on her favorite armchair and put her feet up on the coffee table. “So, word around the precinct is that you’re from the Middle Ages.”

The conversation took off from there. On Juliet’s part at least. She’d never done well with awkward pauses in conversation, so before she knew it she’d talked her way through most of her childhood, Roberta soaking it all in with wide eyes. 

Talk then turned to being a policewoman, and Juliet was surprised when Roberta offered that she had served in something called a citizens army for a few years. It didn’t even dawn on her that they were talking about a medieval army until they had been discussing things like fending off bands of roving bandits for several minutes. Juliet decided to just roll with it. It was Carlton’s problem after all. 

“I did have my own armor and weapons made,” Roberta said. “The broadswords are too heavy for me to wield, and typical armor doesn’t fit my hips.”

Juliet laughed, puling her hair back into a messy bun. “Yeah, police uniforms uniforms aren’t exactly flattering. How many women were there in the army?”

“About ten. It was more common once we became a democracy. I had been asking my parents for fencing lessons since I was seven and they finally gave in when I was nine, so no one was exactly surprised when I joined.”

Juliet smiled, thinking of her own parents. “My mom used to worry whenever I went to the shooting range. It’s gone now. She and my stepdad still worry about me sometimes. Chasing down bad guys, getting into shootouts.”

“Is that what it’s like, being Head Detective Carlton Lassiter’s partner?”

“Ha, you don’t have to say the full title like that. He has a big enough head as it is.” She was dying to ask Roberta about what was going on between her and Carlton but resisted the temptation. “That’s one of the reasons why I think it’s good to have Shawn on our cases. He reminds Carlton that he’s not God’s gift to the police,” she said, thinking rebelliously of her ruined plans for the evening. 

Roberta looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Is this why they dislike each other?”

“Wow, you were there for fifteen minutes and already noticed that, huh? Yeah, I think so. Carlton was the top detective in the precinct for years, and then Shawn shows up and is magically able to solve nearly every case that comes our way. I’m still not sure how he does it.” Juliet thought that Shawn might secretly want Carlton’s approval, or even like him. But both of them were too obtuse to realize that they might even be friends if they could stop posturing for five minutes.

Roberta yawned into the back of her hand, and Juliet noticed that it was past midnight. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize I’d talked for so long. I’ll let you get some sleep.” 

Roberta smiled, but she was already unbuckling her boots. “There is nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad to have met you.” 

Juliet gave her a wave as she retreated to her room, oddly touched by the sentiment. She climbed into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. 

She was dreaming of castles and princesses when she suddenly woke back up, her senses telling her that something was off. 

At first she thought it was just the novelty of having someone sleeping in her apartment, but there was a stillness in the air that she didn’t like. Grabbing the handgun that she kept in her bedside table, she crept down the hall, ears pricked for any movement. 

The apartment was absolutely silent, and she was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t being ridiculous when she noticed the empty couch. 

Reminding herself to keep calm, Juliet went to the bathroom, but the door was open and there were no medieval knights inside. Now it might be time to worry. She went to the front door. All the locks were still in place. 

However, a sudden breeze told her that the window across from the end of her couch was wide open. Juliet dropped her gun to her side and dragged a hand through her hair. “Lassiter is going to kill me.”

*****

Lassiter turned his desk lamp away from his computer, wincing as the light seemed to burn into his tired eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before and pulling all-nighters was not as easy as it used to be. 

He figured he may as well get used to them. After the Chief read his report and learned that he’d had an assailant die on him in custody and that he hadn’t dropped Roberta off at the psych ward, he’d be put on every stakeout night shift for the next six months. 

He stared at his mostly blank report and dropped his head into his hand. He didn’t even understand half of what was going on. He should question Roberta again, without losing focus this time. Find out more details about who she was and where she had come from. She had to have some memory that wasn’t completely crazy.

Take this King Richard person. As if someone like that could even be real. A noble and just king who selflessly threw himself in the line of fire. And Roberta thought he was this person. When she held his hand or touched him, it was because she believed he was Richard, not because she wanted him.

A thought occurred then. Had Richard slept with Roberta? That’s what kings did, didn’t they? Sleep with whatever subjects they wished. It was suddenly all he could think about.

He rubbed his burning eyes. Maybe it was time to give up for the night. Might as well add turning in late reports to his list of faults. 

His cellphone rang and he answered it without looking, “Lassiter.”

“Hey,” O’Hara said, voice studiously casual. “I’m just going to rip this bandaid right off. Roberta’s gone.”

“What!” Lassiter rose to his feet, grabbing for his keys. It took him three tries to finally snag them, and he headed for the parking lot. “How the hell did you lose her?”

“How was I supposed to know she’d go out the window? I live on the third floor!”

“I’m on my way,” he said, snapping his phone shut.

Worry clenched his stomach as he started up his car. They had just been attacked a few hours earlier. What if she had been drugged and kidnapped by someone that morning, by the person she had called an enchantress, and now they had come back for her? He pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

He saw O’Hara jogging up the street in a robe and running shoes a block away from her apartment and stopped, rolling down the car window. “Do you know which way she went?”

“No,” O’Hara said, breathing hard. “I tried up the opposite way but I didn’t see her.”

“I’ll try the side streets.”

He looked over at O’Hara’s building as he passed it, noting that her apartment was the only one with its lights on. The living room window was still open. And there was a gutter pipe directly above the window connecting up with the roof. Lassiter stopped the car.

He used O’Hara’s code to get past the gate and took the stairs up to the roof. A cool night breeze brushed at his shirt as he stepped out of the stairwell. The moon was only a sliver, and he squinted into the darkness.

His heart jumped when he found Roberta standing on the very edge of the building, hair fluttering in the wind. She was peering up into the sky, breathing hard.

“Roberta,” he called softly, wary of startling her. “Please, come here.”

“Where are the stars?” she said, a trace of panic in her voice. “They’ve all gone out.”

“It’s called light pollution.” Lassiter moved up beside and slightly behind her, reaching out a hand. “You just can’t see them.”

She turned then, almost falling into his arms. Lassiter overbalanced and went down. Roberta followed, wrapping an arm around his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, face tucked into his shoulder. “I thought I was doing all right with the strange carriages and the lights and all the new titles and words. But it was so quiet tonight. I couldn’t hear the wind or animals or my husband’s heartbeat. So I thought I would sleep under the stars, and well—” She freed one arm to wave it at the darkened sky. 

Lassiter breathed deep, trying to get his racing heart under control. His mind registered her saying the word “husband,” and it only beat faster. Hoping she wouldn’t notice, she was pressed up against him after all, he stammered, “Well, yes, there’s the stars, but we have street lights so people can see at night. And hospitals. No one get smallpox anymore.” 

Roberta pulled back to look at him. “Are you all right?”

“No…yes,” Lassiter muttered. 

So, she was married. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was probably unheard of for a woman to remain unmarried back then.

She buried her nose back in his neck and his thoughts derailed. “You don’t even smell right,” she said in a choked voice. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he pulled out his cell and sent a text to Juliet telling her that he had found Roberta and that he would be taking her back with him. He stuffed it back into his pocket without waiting for a response. 

He could feel Roberta singing some tune softly but he only caught the word “goodnight,” and then he felt her tears wet his collar. He allowed his arms to come around her, and they sat on the roof for a while longer.

It was only after he noticed that they were both shivering that he pulled himself and her to their feet and guided her back down to his car. 

A short drive later, Lassiter unlocked the door to his house and ushered Roberta in with trepidation. He hadn’t had a woman over in years. 

He gave her a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and then went into his bedroom to change. He stood before his dresser for five minutes without even seeing it. He was so tired his lids seemed to stick together when he blinked. And he was too emotionally rung out to care what anyone thought about his bringing Roberta home with him. He needed to rest and he couldn’t do that unless she was nearby where he didn’t have to worry about her. And it wasn't like Spencer hadn't kept dozens of witnesses at Henry's house over the years. 

He finally made it into a pair of pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes. He heard a click as the bedroom door opened. 

Roberta slipped inside, looking small and defenseless without her armor. Her eyes were still red. “Can I stay with you tonight, my king?”

Lassiter nodded. He hadn’t made up the couch for her; consciously or unconsciously, it didn’t matter. He pushed himself back into the bed, and Roberta joined him, lifting his arm up so she could slide underneath. She rested her head on his chest and looped an arm about his waist.

Struck by the sleepy contentment that came over him, as if he’d had a muscle tensed for hours and then finally relaxed it, Lassiter lay still for a moment before reaching over to turn out the light. 

A memory, vague as smoke, rose up to him in the darkness. Of holding someone like this, their head on his shoulder, legs thrown across his, his arm pressing them up against him. 

He frowned up at the ceiling, attempting to chase the feeling down. It couldn’t have been with his ex-wife. Victoria hadn’t been into things like cuddling or touching, and Lassiter had learned to like it that way too. And he didn’t think he had ever held Lucinda like this. They had only slept together a handful of times, and those had been hurried couplings desperate for release rather than for companionship or bonding. 

Roberta’s hand grasped the top of his t-shirt, and Lassiter wondered if she was going to pull it off and what he would do if she did. But instead she just pulled the collar aside and lifted her head to look down at her shoulder. Her finger traced the scar he had there. “What’s this from?”

Lassiter caught her hand with his own so that he could think. “Knife wound,” he managed before shaking his head. No, that wasn’t right. A headache blossomed behind his eyes as he searched for the memory. “Birthmark. It’s a birthmark!” he said as it finally came back to him. Yes, he had always had it. 

Roberta’s eyes were shining in the darkness, and for a moment he was afraid that she would cry again. Instead she pressed a kiss to the mark. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He wanted to ask her what for, but she had already dropped her head back down to rest against his shoulder. A wave of warmth went through him, making him unable to resist the exhaustion that he had been fighting against all night. Wrapped up in feelings he didn’t know how to define, Lassiter gave in and dropped off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun shone on her eyelids, and Roberta wrinkled her nose, throwing an arm over her face to block the light. It had a yellow hue that told her it was midmorning, which was at odds with how quiet it was. The rooster who often found his way into the inner courtyard should have crowed by now. The dogs should be barking for their breakfast. The castle should be alive with servants hurrying about.

Roberta lifted her head in confusion and groaned aloud. Right. Strange new land. Husband under an evil spell. Light pollution. 

Carlton jerked awake behind her. “Oh,” he said when he noticed Roberta lying beside him.

“Good morning,” she responded. 

He flopped onto his back and said in his matter of fact voice, “If I contaminate a crime scene, lose evidence, and shoot an unarmed civilian today, then I will have broken almost every rule in the book within forty-eight hours.”

Roberta smiled in relief. Considering how well he had handled her previous advances past his boundaries, she had expected him to bolt out the door. She crossed her arms on his stomach and rested her head upon them. “Don’t worry. If that horrible woman throws you in the dungeon or puts you in the stocks, I will help you escape.” 

“More likely she’ll fire me and have you locked away in a psych ward.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Not about you being fired. But what if I could look around that asylum as a patient? The orderly knew something about Richard. Or at least claimed to. I could find out who was controlling it.”

Carlton sat up, dislodging her. “How about we come up with a plan that doesn’t involve you getting drugged and put in a straight jacket. We could question the guy’s friends, neighbors, see if anyone noticed when he began acting strangely.” 

Roberta rather thought that it sounded like a waste of time, but his methods had gotten them this far, and it wasn’t like she could go around trying to find a way home herself. She stood out like a fire juggler in her armor and she didn’t know how to hunt and track outside of a forest. 

Carlton climbed out of bed. “We’ll go back to Sunset Park today. Someone has to have seen how you got there. We’ll check the cameras on the street.”

Roberta followed him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. “I’d rather pursue the orderly’s master.” She didn’t know what a “camera” was, but if anyone had seen anything, it would only be her appearing in a flash of light from Madalena’s spell. 

She leaned up against the other side of the counter as he began to crack eggs into a pan. “Richard?”

“Yes?” He looked up at her, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait, no, it’s Carlton.”

Roberta repressed her smile. “As you say. But may I ask why you are being so agreeable this morning? Are you starting to believe me?”

He went still, hand hanging over the pan with an empty shell between his fingers. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he finally said. “And I don’t think you’re on hardcore drugs.”

“Drugs? When was that—”

He continued on before she could finish. “But I don’t know what to do with what you say about spells and enchantresses and me being a king.”

Well, it was a fair sight better than where they had been the day before. “You’ll remember again. And even if you don’t—” she sucked in a breath, quelling the anxiety running through her that his state would be permanent, “—and I find a way home, I wouldn’t go back unless you wanted to come with me.” 

“You’d stay here with me?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she said, heart breaking because even if his tone was casual, there was an underlying disbelief that she wouldn’t leave him.

“Even if it turns out that I’m not him?” 

“Even then,” she said with conviction. Not that there was any doubt in her mind about that. The scar on his shoulder, from the wound that she had given him, had burned away any lingering doubts the night before. “But I think you’d go back with me either way.”

He looked up from his stirring. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’re happy here, Carlton,” she said, speaking to the man he was at that moment.

He blinked down at the pan before speaking, his voice barely audible. “I haven’t been. Not for a while.” 

Roberta nodded but didn’t press him further, sensing his need to regain control. 

Finally he took a deep breath and began scraping eggs onto two plates. “And just what job would I do back in medieval times? Knight?”

Roberta rolled with the subject change and followed him to the table. “I don’t think you’d be suited.” Although seeing him in full armor did hold a certain appeal. “Why not a lord? You obviously come from wealth.” 

Carlton surprised her by laughing. “Wealth? What gives you that idea?”

“You own a dozen glasses. Your bed was the most soft and comfortable one I’ve ever slept in. And you have a home that magically heats your breakfast and gives hot water!” She gestured at the wonders of the room.

Carlton blinked. “I guess I would be wealthy back in medieval days.” 

Roberta hid her smirk behind her hair as she took a bite of her eggs. He really had no idea. 

*******

Lassiter stepped in the precinct with a surprisingly light heart for a man who was headed to the gallows career-wise. He didn’t even care that he was coming into work three hours later than usual. He figured that if he could hold off on turning in his report to the Chief until the end of the day, he could get a few more hours with Roberta before everything went to hell. 

Lassiter sensed Roberta peeling off from his trajectory towards his desk and rolled his eyes when she approached Juliet, who was waving at them from her own desk. 

“Hey,” Juliet said. “Everything go okay last night?”

Her tone was neutral, but Lassiter frowned at her. As if she had any room to talk with her candles and music and fancy pajamas. 

Roberta clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry for running away last night. I didn’t mean to insult your hospitality.”

Juliet waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Roberta’s attention moved to the books on his partner’s desk. Lassiter followed her gaze to the stack of books with knights on horseback, castles, and crown-wearing kings on the cover. “O’Hara, what are you reading?”

Juliet broke into a wide grin. “Oh, just some books on the Middle Ages. Is this the Richard you mentioned last night, Roberta?” She held up a spread with a horrifying portrait of Richard the III on one page. “It’d better not be,” Lassiter muttered.

“No, of course not,” Roberta said, looking up at him in amusement. 

Juliet started flipping through another book. “Okay, what about—”

Lassiter moved the conversation along before it came to light that Roberta thought he was some long-dead king. “Shouldn’t you be working on the Cogniti case?”

“Hmmm, yeah. I was supposed to go check out some known associates with Shawn this morning, but he hasn’t come in yet.”

There was a petty satisfaction to be found in Spencer being late as well. Not that the fraud would get written up for it.   
He turned back towards his desk. “Roberta and I have leads of our own to follow.” 

Roberta gave a wave back to Juliet as she followed him. “That was nice of her. Although I didn’t recognize that king. Or the castle on the other book.” 

Lassiter tapped at the space bar to wake up his computer. “I don’t think you would. Unless every medieval historian has been hiding that there were wizards and unicorns running around back then.”

However Roberta was about to respond was cut off when a cringe-inducing voice shouted from across the room: “Lassie, look! I’ve found a friend of Roberta’s!”

Lassiter’s skin went cold, and he turned. Shawn Spencer was hurrying towards them and following him was not the doppleganger that Lassiter was bracing himself to see, but a woman. Caucasian, late-twenties, dark hair that hung past her shoulders. She wore a dark purple dress and a gold crown with green jewels. Because of course. 

Lassiter rose to his feet, only to be pushed back by Roberta, who placed herself in front of him. She twisted her armguard and the knife, which he now remembered that he had neglected to confiscate, slid out into her hand. 

She pointed it at the woman walking towards them. “Madalena!” 

Every cop in the room was on his feet, hands going for their guns. Lassiter waved them back. He tried to grab Roberta’s knife arm, but she pushed him behind her again with her free hand. She was surprisingly strong. 

The woman known as Madalena did not seem fazed by the tension in the room, coming to a stop just out of range of Roberta’s knife. “Roberta, darling, I was afraid that I had lost you.” 

“I’ll bet you were.”

Lassiter leaned forward to speak into Roberta’s ear. “What’s going on? Put the knife down!”

“Stay behind me. I won’t let her hurt you,” she whispered back fiercely. 

“Lassiter!”

Vick had appeared in her office doorway, looking mad as hell. “Disarm that woman, get some handcuffs on her, and take her to an interrogation room. Spencer!” 

Shawn jumped. “Chief?”

“Bring your guest into my office. Now.” 

Lassiter took advantage of Roberta’s distraction to pull down the arm holding the knife. She fought him when he tried to take it out of her grasp. “What are you doing? I’m trying to protect you. She’s something you don’t know how to fight.”

“She hasn’t done anything yet,” he responded. 

She laughed incredulously, sounding close to tears. “You don’t know anything. She’s going to kill us both.” 

“I won’t let that happen.” He finally succeeded in getting her to open her fingers and tossed the knife onto his desk. “Come on.” He led her to an empty interrogation room, waiting to cuff her until they were inside so that every cop there didn’t see her being restrained. 

“Richard, please,” she said as he bolted her cuffs to the table. “Stay away from her!”

He took hold of her hand for a moment, trying to reassure her. But he could only say, “I’m sorry,” and leave the room.

He felt his will waiver as he went back down the hall, but he clenched his jaw and walked onwards. This was the first real piece of Roberta’s past that he had found, and he had to know more.

The Chief was sitting behind her desk, fingers steepled, when he entered her office. Roberta’s knife lay on the desk in an evidence bag. O’Hara and Spencer stood to the side near the table. And Madalena was sitting in the lone chair before the desk, arms draped on the rests. She looked every bit a medieval queen.

“She’s from a Renaissance fair,” Spencer said excitedly as Lassiter took up a spot to the side by the bookcase. He started to say more, but the Chief gave him a look, and his jaw snapped shut. 

“It’s called Medieval Days,” Madalena said, examining a blood red nail. “One of those dinner and a show things. I play the evil enchantress who ousts Queen Roberta from her throne.” 

“She’s a queen,” O’Hara said wonderingly.

Lassiter crossed his arms. “She thinks she’s actually from the Middle Ages.”

Madalena gave him the look she likely gave the village idiot at her show. “Yes, well, she’s what I think you would call a method actress. And she hit her head during a joust a few months ago, so she’s been a bit confused. Poor thing.” 

Lassiter turned away, rubbing a hand over his face as his thoughts raced. It made horrible, awful sense. He couldn’t believe any of it. Why hadn't he thought to take her in to get her checked for a head injury? 

The Chief rested her elbows on the desk. “Shouldn’t she be in some sort of mental facility?”

“She’s not dangerous.” She paused, giving the knife sitting on the desk an unimpressed look. “Normally. Really all I ask is that you let me take her back with me. I’ll make sure this never happens again,” she promised, voice low. 

Lassiter saw the Chief’s expression and turned toward her. “A word, please, Chief.”

“Spencer, please take Ms.—?”

“Madalena Smith.”

“Ms. Smith outside.”

Spencer looked sulky at being sent away, but he did as told. The Chief was the one person he did respect. 

Lassiter was speaking before the door even closed. “I don’t like it.”

“Excuse me for not being shocked. Your judgement is obviously compromised where this woman is concerned.” She pointed in the direction of his desk. “Keeping a suspect unrestrained and not thoroughly checking her for weapons. And after I warned you! What the hell is wrong with you? I’m sending you for some serious training when this is all over.”

Lassiter waved it off. “Fine. But Chief, you have to see that something is wrong here. Roberta was terrified of her.”

“Really? Because from where I was standing it looked like she was acting out a scene from a cheesy medieval floor show.”

Lassiter turned to O’Hara for some backup, but his partner merely shifted her stance and gave him an apologetic look. He couldn’t blame her. She had only met Roberta the night before, and Roberta had tried to attack someone with a knife a few minutes ago. 

He planted his hands on the Chief’s desk, putting every ounce of his conviction into his voice. “I know I haven’t been myself these past few days. But if you ever thought of me as a good detective, then please listen to me. I don’t think it’s a good idea to just send Roberta off with some woman that Spencer dug up.”

The Chief sighed. “Let’s put them into an interrogation room. See if we can spot any red flags.”

“Put them in an enclosed space? Roberta was scared for her life.”

“O’Hara, check her for weapons first,” the Chief said, beginning to lose patience. 

O’Hara nodded and left the room. Lassiter followed, fuming. 

A quick pat down of Madalena’s silk gown revealed only a jeweled stick in her sleeve. “Prop wand,” she said, one corner of her mouth twisting up. 

“I’ll hold onto that, thank you,” O’Hara said. 

O’Hara unlocked the door, and Lassiter went to the two-way mirror as Madalena turned her head to look over her shoulder at the Chief. “Just so you know,” she said softly enough so Roberta could not hear. “I’m going to do this in character. She didn’t seem to take it too well when I tried to snap her out of it earlier.”

Then she stepped into the room. “Hello, Roberta.”

Roberta’s hands were clenched around the chain connecting her to the table. Her face was pale. “What are you doing here, Madalena?” she asked wearily. “You got rid of me. Why are you back?”

Madalena slumped into the chair across the table. “Because that bloody dragon of yours is burning everything in sight. I can’t very well be queen of the seven realms if there are no more realms now, can I?”

“They have a dragon,” Juliet breathed. 

“Hopefully it’s animatronic and not just some guy in a costume,” Shawn said. “We should go see the show sometime.”

“Would you two shut up,” Lassiter snapped, trying hard to grasp all the undercurrents of the conversation going on before him.

Roberta spoke slowly. “What did you do to Richard?”

“Ugh, I don’t know! Magic isn’t as easy as singing the “D’DEW” song, you know. If you had just handed over the kingdom to me when I asked, then I wouldn’t have had to accidentally send Richard wherever I did.”

Roberta’s eyes closed briefly. “Then you don’t know where he is?”

“No, or else I would be getting him to come back and take control of that bloody lizard.”

“And if I can’t or won’t control Tad Cooper?”

“Then he’ll eat you, or I’ll just send you back here again. Either way, you’ll be out of my hair.”

The two women glared at each for a moment. Roberta broke first. “The dead man at the asylum. He was your servant, wasn’t he?”

Madalena’s eyes flicked to the mirror. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But it would be useful to have an undead servant doing my bidding in this time.”

“You’ve been here before,” Roberta continued.

Madalena laughed. “I told you the other century! I’ve seen the past and walked in the future. That’s why I used that spell on you. Or tried to before Richard got in the way. I figured you would be out of my way in an asylum here so I could use you as leverage whenever I liked.”

Roberta drew herself up, and Lassiter could almost see her as the queen Madalena claimed that she was. “They won’t just let you take me away.”

“Who, the police?” Madalena smirked, slow and dark. “They will, because I’ve told them the truth.” Her voice became flat and bitingly honest. “Roberta, you’re an actress in a medieval-themed show. You hit your head and it’s made you think that you actually are Queen Roberta, wife of King Richard, and owner of an actual dragon. But you’re not. You’re a nobody with delusions of grandeur.” 

Lassiter dropped his hands from the window ledge and straightened, mouth parted. It hadn’t occurred to him when Madalena had said that Roberta was a queen just what that might mean. Roberta and Richard were married. Why hadn’t she told him? 

Roberta’s jaw had gone tight. “What about Gareth? Where’s he?” She spoke as if making a counter-attack. 

To everyone’s surprise, Madalena’s eyes began to look suspiciously bright. Lassiter wouldn’t have thought her capable of anything but boredom or smug superiority. 

She looked away. “He’s dead. I killed him and proved that I am truly evil.” 

Then Madalena turned towards the mirror and her mask was back. “And by kill, I mean had written out of the show.” The she turned back to Roberta. “We’re done talking. It’s time to go back now.” She felt at her sleeve and sighed. “As soon as I get my wand back.” She knocked on the interrogation room door. 

O'Hara moved to go open it, but Lassiter put a hand on her arm. “Chief, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe a word that woman says.”

“I’ll admit that it is questionable having a woman who may be mentally ill in some sort of show.” Vick nodded at Roberta through the glass. “But does she seem abused or maltreated to you?”

“That’s besides the point. Roberta doesn’t want to go with her.”

Madalena knocked again, harder.

McNab came over then and handed the Chief a file folder. She perused its contents for a moment. “Looks like her story checks out. ID came back clean. And she had this.” She handed him the folder.

Lassiter flipped it open. The first sheet was a printout of a webpage for Medieval Days that looked like it was designed in the late 90s. There was a grainy picture of two knights jousting, an address, and a list of showtimes but not much else. Madalena’s records, or lack thereof, were next. Completely clean, not even a parking ticket. And finally, a small coin was inside a bag taped to the back of the folder. Roberta’s portrait was imprinted on one side. She was in a Renaissance fair gown and wearing a crown remarkably similar to the one Madalena now sported. 

“Wow, she’s beautiful,” O’Hara said. 

Lassiter’s chest clenched. The file didn’t prove anything, not by a long shot. 

The Chief unlocked the door and entered the interrogation room, walking past Madalena, who stood with arms crossed impatiently. “Are we done here? We’ve got a three o’clock matinee.”

The Chief sat down in the chair across from Roberta while O’Hara took up a place back by the wall. Spencer stayed near the door, looking worried that he would be ordered out at any moment. Lassiter went to stand back behind Roberta. 

The Chief placed the open file on the table. “Ms. Steingass, we have reason to believe that Ms. Smith is telling the truth. Would you be willing to return with her to your place of work?”

Roberta was staring at the coin on the back of the file with faint annoyance that soon shifted into anger. She turned around to Lassiter. “Do you believe her?”

Lassiter didn’t dare respond in the negative, not with the Chief sitting right there, but he could go on the defensive. He gave Madalena a direct look. “Who is Richard?”

Roberta shook her head rapidly at him, eyes wide with horrified incredulity now.

“Another character. An ineffectual, effeminate king,” Madalena said with a wave of her hand. 

Then her eyes met Lassiter’s for the first time and her eyebrows went up. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Actually, detective, since you seem to be having a problem believing me, why don’t you come back with us? See the show.”

Lassiter took a step forward, hearing the challenge in her voice. “Maybe I will.” He didn’t know what he would find at this so-called medieval floor show. A brainwashed cult of actors who lived as if they really were in the Middle Ages maybe. But then he would have proof, and he could get Roberta out of there for good.

Roberta jerked against her handcuffs, voice taking on a hysterical note. “No! There’s no need for that. I’ll go back with her.”

Lassiter began unlocking her hands from the table. “We can leave right now. How far away is it?”

“Quite far,” Madalena said, now looking him up and down with interest. 

As soon as he got Roberta’s cuffs unbolted from the table, she was on her feet, spinning around to meet his eyes with an intake of breath. “I lied!”

“What?” O’Hara and Spencer said almost in unison. 

“About what?” the Chief demanded. 

“I’m not really from the Middle Ages. I’m an actress in a show about knights and castles. I lied about it all.”

“Why?” Lassiter asked tightly. 

“I…I get confused sometimes. I forget who I am.”

“She’s mentally not all there,” Madalena said helpfully.

“It went too far.” She dropped her eyes to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Carlton.” 

Lassiter started slightly at the use of his real name. Then he unlocked her handcuffs. “Go.”

“Hold on one minute,” the Chief said. “Ms. Smith, I want her taken in to see a doctor this week, and I expect to be sent his report.”

“Absolutely,” Madalena said, giving them a radiant smile. She held up a palm to O’Hara. “My wand.”

Juliet handed it over uneasily. 

Madalena took Roberta’s elbow. “Come on, we’ve got to rehearse your execution scene when we get back.” Roberta shook her arm out of her grasp.

“Spoilers,” Shawn said out of the side of his mouth.

Lassiter moved to follow them. “I’ll escort you both out.”

“No,” the Chief said. “Spencer, get McNab to walk them out. You’re done with this,” she finished, pointing at the chair across from her.

Lassiter sank into the seat as Roberta and Madalena followed Spencer out. She did not turn back to look at him. 

“I’d like to go out to the show later and make sure she’s all right,” he said. 

“No. I mean it, Lassiter. You’ve gotten too involved here. If I hear about you setting foot anywhere near that Renaissance fair, then you are fired.” She jerked her head towards the door. “Go write up your report. Every last detail. Then we can talk about your retraining back at the academy.”

Lassiter nodded curtly and bolted for the door. 

He nearly jogged over to his desk, sliding into his chair and firing up his computer. He pulled up his email program and began typing. 

O’Hara ran over, skidding to a stop in her heels. “What are you doing just sitting here?! Carlton, Roberta’s in trouble. I don’t care what she said at the end.”

“I know.” He finished typing his signature on his letter of resignation and sent it off. “I didn’t want to waste time talking everything out with the Chief.”

“You’re going after her?” O’Hara gave a little jump of excitement. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, I’m sorry, Juliet, but I don’t want you getting fired too.” Not giving himself time to think about the enormity of this decision, he started to unfasten his shoulder holster. “But maybe come out to that address on the webpage tomorrow? Make sure I’m not playing an ineffectual king in some cheesy dinner show.”

“You got it, partner.”

He set his holster and badge down on his desk. “Not anymore. You’re a good cop, O’Hara. Now that I’m gone, you’re the best detective this place has.” Juliet gave him a salute as he grabbed his keys and went for the back door. 

He had hoped to time it so that he could see whatever vehicle Madalena was driving and then follow them unnoticed in his own car, where he had a backup weapon stashed. Worst case scenario, he would head out to the address he had seen on the printout. 

Instead Lassiter barreled out the back door and right into Roberta, who was standing just outside, hands held up in surrender. He caught her around the waist before she could fall over and saw Madalena watching, unsurprised. “Richard! How perfect that you should join us.”

“What are you doing?” Roberta said in frustration. 

“Saving your life,” he answered. “I knew you were lying to me. Both of you.”

“Yes, to stop you from getting killed!”

He looked at Madalena to see what kind of weapon she had on them, but it was only the so-called wand. 

He smirked at her. “What are you going to do, jab us in the eye? Drop the stick, Madalena.”

Madalena gave the prop a twirl. “You are an even bigger idiot in this world than in ours.” 

Lassiter darted forward, trying to snag it out of her hands. Madalena jerked back, giving a cry of “D’DEW!” And the last thing he saw in this world was a flash of green light.


	6. Chapter 6

PART 2

For a moment all she felt was air rushing by her, then Roberta hit a grassy hillside and tumbled downwards. She tucked her arms in as she would if she fell off a horse and prayed that she wouldn’t go flying right off a cliff. 

Providence was with her it seemed, because she rolled to a stop before the tree line at the bottom of the hill. Roberta sat up, blowing her hair out of her face and feeling her torso and legs to make sure the spell hadn’t turned her into a frog or something. She was a bit bruised and the world was still spinning but nothing was gushing blood or amphibian-shaped, so she had that going for her. 

Once she could see straight, she noticed Carlton laying in a heap about twenty yards away. He was in the clothes from the strange land and he was still missing his beard, but hope rose in her chest that maybe this new spell had returned his memory. She staggered towards him.

“Richard?” she cried, falling to her knees beside him.

He looked blearily up at her when she shook his shoulder. “It’s…Carlton.” Then he turned over to be sick.

Roberta rubbed between his shoulder blades, remembering with sympathy how she had felt when she first woke up in that park, but she also felt like kicking him in the ribs. Idiot man couldn’t even let her fall on the sword to save him. No, he had to go throwing himself in front of spells every chance he got. It would have served him right to get turned into a frog this time. 

Speaking of Madalena, Roberta rose into a crouched position to peer around the clearing. They were at the bottom of a hill that led into the deep woods. No sorceresses, evil or otherwise, could be seen in any direction. 

Carlton had stilled beneath her hand. His eyes were staring unfocused at their surroundings now.

“Richard?” Roberta tried again. 

He didn’t respond, so she bent down to look into his eyes. “Carlton?”

His expression didn’t change. 

“One true king to unite them all?” 

That one didn’t snap him out of it either, so Roberta stood up. While she couldn’t say she recognized the exact forest that they were in, the types of trees were ones that she knew, and the land around her just felt familiar. Like entering a house or pub that she had visited often. 

Roberta felt a wide grin break out. They were home. 

Carlton was still catatonic, but he was shivering in the light mist that was gathering around them. So Roberta half dragged him deeper into the forest and, sitting him down against a tree, started to gather wood for a small fire, careful not to stray out of eyesight. She hoped getting him warm would bring him to his senses. It wasn’t a good idea to stay in one place for too long. 

She frowned at the color of the sunlight as it began to set. When she had left, it had been early spring, now apparently it was early summer. And it had been late summer back in Carlton’s world. She could only hope that Madalena’s spell had sent them back soon after they had left. It struck her that Madalena, while ambitious, wasn’t exactly the most skilled of sorceresses.

Thirty minutes of working with the kindling finally produced a small flame, but Roberta didn’t dare get a bigger fire going. She looked into the woods and sighed, wishing she could catch them some dinner. 

She must have slept because the next she knew, she was lying on her side and light was breaking over the tops of the trees. 

Carlton sat next to her, tossing twigs into the fire. “I’ve decided,” he said, in his usual matter of fact voice. “That I am lying unconscious by the dumpster behind the precinct.”

“Carlton!” She tackled him flat onto his back, wrapping her arms around him.

“And this,” he continued, although now sounding slightly winded, “Is all an elaborate hallucination.”

Roberta placed her hands on either side of his shoulders and pushed herself up so that she could examine him. “Are you hurt? How do you feel?”

“Actually, you know what? Maybe this all started with Cogniti. He cold cocked me back in that basement, and I’ve been in a coma ever since!” He stood up, forcing her to roll off of him, and began to pace back and forth before the fire. “It all makes sense. Spencer never gets punched, that was just wish fulfillment. And then a beautiful woman who claims she already knows me comes into my life, needing to be rescued, and then just like that, within twenty-four hours she’s spending the night and having breakfast with me.” 

Roberta thought “needing to be rescued” was putting it a bit far; if anything, she had saved him. “Sounds like magic to me,” she told him.

“Exactly. You are just a dream,” he accused, pointing a finger at her. 

Roberta wondered if slapping him would help, but she worried now that he had hit his head rolling down the hill. She rose to her feet and tried to tilt his head to check for injuries. 

He swatted at her, almost in a panic. “No! Don’t touch me. You’re not even real.”

Roberta held up her hands and took a step back. So much for hoping that he would remember everything as soon as they got home. It only seemed to have made him worse. And him being as stubborn as a goat didn’t help. 

“Are you still nauseous?” she asked, taking another step back to give him some distance.

“A little,” he muttered.

“That will go away once we get some food in you.” She stamped out the dying fire. “But we need to start moving. If Madalena herself isn’t nearby, she will have soldiers looking for us.” 

“Where are we going?” He folded his hands up underneath his arms for warmth and looked around. 

Roberta nodded back in the direction of the hill. “I’m not sure yet. But I’m hoping the high ground will tell us.”

The sun was beginning to shine in earnest through the trees as they climbed. Roberta turned once she reached the top of the hill and squinted in the sunlight. Carlton came beside her a moment later, his flat shoes slipping on the wet grass. 

Black smoke could be seen rising up over the fields in the distance. Roberta sighed. “I’m guessing that’s where we need to go.” 

*****

Lassiter tramped through the woods after Roberta and tried to get a handle on just what his subconscious was trying to tell him. The medieval part made sense, he supposed. He had done a medieval reenactment once, and a time period when men were chivalrous and just appealed to him. Still, he wished they were in the Civil War. Why couldn’t his subconscious have made him a general? 

A king wasn’t too bad though. And he had a queen as well. He eyed Roberta’s determined figure as she cut her way through the undergrowth. It figured that his subconscious would come up with someone like her. Someone that wasn’t real. He had to remember that. 

He lengthened his stride so that he could walk next to her. “Why didn’t you tell me we were married?”

Any doubts that they weren’t vanished as her face flamed red. “It’s not exactly something you go around announcing, my king.” 

“You never said you were a queen either.”

“Again, not something you want to just start saying to everyone you meet while in a strange land.”

“Fair enough.” He thought about asking her about their marriage but shook his head. He didn’t want to know. It was better not knowing. 

Roberta gave him a sidelong glance. “You said ‘we’ just a moment ago. Does this mean you’re starting to believe that you are Richard?”

“No.” But a niggling worry remained that his mind had made him someone else in this dream. 

He blinked his eyes hard at the trees around them, but they did not dematerialize into a hospital room. Rubbing at them and pinching his arm brought about similar results. 

And so they trudged on. Roberta found them some nuts off a tree, which she finally cajoled him into eating. He tried to pretend that he could not taste them, nor that the churning in his stomach lessened once he had something to eat. 

In fact, his sense of physical self was making it annoyingly difficult to imagine himself a disembodied representation. His slacks and button-up shirt offered little protection against the chill in the air. His work shoes were hardly made for trekking through the woods and they were soon caked with mud. 

After the third time he nearly slipped and fell while attempting to clamber over some rocks, Roberta grasped his arm to steady him. “Just a bit further.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Lassiter asked. 

“To the village nearest our castle.” She gave the billowing smoke overhead a dubious glance. “If it’s still there.”

*****

As providence would have it, Havenstown was still more or less in one piece. However, the marketplace was a little more specific than she remembered. Roberta examined the signs hawking “fire-roasted tomatoes,” “meats - well done only,” and “fire-blackened cheese” with trepidation. How in the world were they supposed to go about stopping Tad Cooper?

Carlton was staring around at the chaos of the market with an overwhelmed expression and Roberta was more than a little worried that Madalena might have men stationed in the town, so they ducked into the tavern, whose sign was only a charred piece of wood hanging from the post. Roberta could ask around about their disappearance, Tad Cooper’s reign of terror, and Madalena’s schemes in there.

She situated Carlton in the back of the pub’s main room. “What do you want to drink?”

“Water,” he answered, running a finger along the rough wood of the table. 

“I wouldn’t. The well’s fairly close to the cesspool in Havenstown.”

Carlton grimaced. “Whiskey? Is that a thing here?”

“Beer?” she ventured. 

He shrugged, and she went off to buy their drinks. 

She had just picked up both their goblets and was about to ask the tavern keeper about the local dragon problem when a familiar voice called out, “Roberta!” 

She turned and there approaching from the other side of the room was none other than Galavant and Isabella. 

She threw her arms about them both, blinking back tears and sloshing some of Carlton’s beer down the back of Galavant’s armor. “What are you two doing here? You should be off on your beach having your happily ever after.”

Galavant pulled back, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. Isabella laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him. A general stillness fell over the tavern as the chorus got ready to come in. 

They waited for a good fifteen seconds, but the music never started, so Galavant shrugged and started talking instead. “My skills as a dragon-slayer were called upon.”

Roberta noticed then that his beard looked a bit singed. “Did you kill Tad Cooper?”

“Working on it,” he said through gritted teeth.

Roberta sensed that this was a point of contention judging from the unimpressed look Isabella gave him.

“Why is he burning everything?”

“We were going to ask you that,” Isabella said. “We heard that you and Richard had both disappeared and that Madalena had holed up inside your castle.”

“Madalena turned up one day and demanded that Richard take her back as queen. When he refused, she sent us both to some other land. In the future, maybe? It’s not really clear.” 

“And now you’re both back? Where’s Richard?” Galavant looked around the pub and spotted Carlton sitting in the back. “Richard!” 

“Wait, he’s not exactly—” Roberta tried, but Galavant was already clanking his way over the table.

“What happened to his hair?” Isabella said to Roberta as they followed.

“It’s a bit of a long story.”

Galavant laid a hand on Carlton’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re okay. Roberta told us about Madalena. Must be sort of gratifying to have her want you back, right?”

Carlton ducked out from under his hand and rose to his feet. “Who are you exactly?”

Galavant’s gaze roamed over Carlton’s features. “Richard, it’s me. Galavant, hero of legend, defeater of evil, your best friend?” He looked up at the ceiling, but no theme music started. 

“He doesn’t remember any of us. Or even who he is.” Roberta moved to Carlton’s side in hopes of giving him some feeling of solidarity. 

“Carlton Lassiter,” he held out his hand for Galavant to shake. “Currently lying in a hospital bed in a coma and hallucinating this entire thing.” 

Isabella took his hand instead when Galavant only stared at him. “I’m Isabella.” She turned to Roberta. “Is it some sort of spell?”

“It must be. He got hit with the D’DEW magic. Madalena doesn’t even know what she did to him. I don’t even know if she can undo it.” Roberta looked at the ground, trying to rein in her emotions. She didn’t want to hurt Carlton by crying over something he couldn’t help.

A roar sounded from overhead, shaking the rafters of the tavern. Roberta grabbed Carlton’s hand and pulled him under the table for cover. No one else in the tavern seemed to much mind though. A few people ran in from outside, but most just picked up their drinks to keep them from spilling.

“There’s Tad Cooper,” Galavant said, scowling at the ceiling. 

Isabella held out a hand to draw Roberta back out from under the table. “He doesn’t go after buildings so much. He’s been frying livestock mostly. And attacking anyone who tries to get close to your castle.”

“Is Madalena still living there?” Roberta said, shuddering to think of that horrible woman in her rooms. It was bad enough seeing the enchantress wearing her crown. 

“No, as far as we can tell Tad Cooper drove her out.” Galavant pulled Carlton up from his crouch near the floor. “Well, we have Richard with us now…sort of. Let’s see if we can’t slay this dragon.”

He headed out the door, dragging Carlton behind him. 

*****

Well, now he knew how Roberta had felt for the last two days. Weird places, confusing clothing, loud monsters flying overhead. Although, in his opinion, airplanes were a far less terrifying than an actual dragon, even if one had no idea what airplanes were. 

Also there was the way everyone kept having conversations about him as if he weren’t there. It reminded him all too much of how he felt when Spencer and Guster would talk as if he were incapable of understanding what they were saying. Well, not here. This was his hallucination, dammit. Wasn’t he supposed to be the king of these people?

He yanked his arm free of Galavant’s grasp. “Hold on one minute. Just how am I supposed to help you kill this thing?” 

“You’ve raised him since he was lizard-sized,” Roberta said as she caught up with them. “And I don’t think you’ll have to kill him. He always obeys you.”

“Yes, but I’m not me,” Lassiter said. 

Galavant apparently lost interest in the conversation, because he turned away to a nearby stall and handed the vendor a coin. The vendor in return handed a rope tied to a sheep to the knight, which he in turn handed to Lassiter. 

“Come,” he said. “We will draw the beast out.”

“Does he not hear me when I talk?” Lassiter complained to Roberta as he was once again yanked onwards. 

“Sorry,” Isabella said. “He’s in hero mode.”

They walked out of town, and Lassiter was unsurprised to see an actual castle rising up out of the trees. What actually did surprise him was the real, actual dragon clinging to the side of the watchtower at its entrance. Maybe because it wasn’t what he normally pictured when he heard the word “dragon.” Tad Cooper looked like an overgrown lizard with wings. How it even got airborne, he had no idea.

As their little group crouched beneath a copse of trees, the dragon let out another roar and reached up to tap at its mouth with a clawed foot. 

Roberta turned to grasp Isabella’s arm. “Has Tad Cooper actually eaten anyone? Or any of the livestock?”

“You know, I don’t think so,” Isabella said, head tilted in thought. “He just sort of flies around burning everything.” 

Roberta touched her own mouth. “This is the signal Richard taught him to show when he wanted dinner. He’s just hungry! He would only ever eat when Richard was the one to feed him.”

“Sounds about right.” Galavant gave Lassiter a little shove between his shoulder blades. “Go feed your pet, Richard.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” Lassiter asked, nearly losing his balance as the sheep’s rope wound about his legs. 

Everyone looked at Roberta. “Well, he would sometimes sing the song that Pearl used to sing to him when he was a boy.”

They waited, but she just stared back at them.

“Well?” Isabella finally asked in exasperation. 

Roberta’s eyes were wide with panic. “I can’t remember it!”

“No, wait, hang on. I think I know it.” Galavant turned to the side a bit, face tense with concentration. “Goodnight—”

Isabella winced. “That was way off-key.”

“Yes, yes, one second.” He started again, this time in a higher pitch. 

They all cringed this time. 

“Does anyone have one of those little pipes that helps you find the right key?” Galavant said, feeling around in his pockets. 

“Maybe if we tried it together?” Roberta asked. 

The three of them moved into a little huddle, all humming wildly different notes. 

Lassiter turned away, looking at the tower speculatively. Slaying a dragon had to stand for something. He just wasn’t sure what it meant just yet. And once he figured out what that was, he would wake up. And then maybe he would know why he had been feeling so unhappy lately. Lassiter sighed. This would fund his therapist’s salary for the next six months. 

He stepped out in the field and marched towards the crumbling watchtower, dragging the sheep behind him. 

Tad Cooper noticed him when he was about halfway across the field and slowly clawed its way down the tower, sending chunks of stone crumbling to the ground. 

Lassiter’s steps faltered as he reached the drawbridge over the castle’s moat, and he realized just how big the dragon was. It only came up to about chest height, but it was over four feet wide and likely weighed well over a ton. It eyed him with one entirely black pupil. 

Lassiter held up a hand. “Hold it right there,” he commanded in his best cop voice. 

The dragon’s mouth worked, as if it were chewing on something. Lassiter saw its throat glow red. He distantly heard Roberta screaming his name.

“I’ve heard that you can’t die in a dream,” he told the sheep, which was bleating in terror. “That you’ll just wake up.”

Then he was engulfed in a stream of blazing fire.

Lassiter’s first coherent thought was vague surprise that he wasn’t in unimaginable pain. In fact, he just felt like he was standing in front of an enormous oven. Sadly, it wasn’t the kind of warmth from lying in a hospital bed covered in blankets. 

He uncurled from his instinctive crouched position, dropping the arms that he had put up in futile protection. Flames rushed by him, pushing against his clothing and hair like a strong wind. But to his amazement, his clothing was still intact. In fact, he couldn’t see or feel any signs of burns at all. 

He turned around to look at Roberta and the others. They gaped at him. The fire cut off, and even Tad Cooper managed to look surprised. 

Lassiter held up his arm to look at his skin and noticed the charred rope. It seemed the poor sheep was no so lucky.

Tad Cooper cocked its head, now looking with rapt attention at the burnt mutton lying on the ground. It ambled forward and nudged Lassiter, nearly knocking him off his feet. 

Lassiter rapped it on the nose. “No! Bad!”

The dragon startled back, flaring out the little spikes on its chin. Lassiter looked it in the eye into it looked away, then he waved a hand at the charred meat. “All right. Go ahead.” 

Tad Cooper only raised a paw and tapped it clumsily against its mouth.

“I said go ahead,” Lassiter huffed, beginning to feel like the victim of a prank. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a zipper on the dragon’s back. 

When Tad Cooper continued to ignore its dinner, Lassiter gave up and started back towards the others. Roberta ran to meet him halfway, touching his face with trembling hands. “Richard? Are you all right?” 

Lassiter’s chest clenched when saw that she was close to tears. “I knew it couldn’t hurt me. None of this is real.”

He gestured around him to emphasize the point, only to be smacked in the chest by Roberta, whose face had gone red. “You scared me to death!” She stomped off towards the castle walls. 

“Ow,” Lassiter whined, rubbing at what he suspected was a new bruise. She was shockingly strong for someone so small. 

Galavant came onto to slap him on the back. “Well done, Richard.”

Lassiter nodded, distantly noting the genuine admiration in his voice but more concerned with Roberta’s retreating figure. 

“Flowers and chocolate,” Isabella said as she walked past. 

“Or an apology duet,” Galavant added before turning to watch Tad Cooper amble after them. “Have you always been immune to fire?”

Lassiter threw up his hands. Why was this so hard for these people to understand? “There is no ‘always!’ I’ve never been here before.”

“Hmmm. We better have the local wizard take a look at you.”


	7. Chapter 7

With Tad Cooper situated at the front gates in hopes of tricking Madalena that they hadn’t returned home, Dragon’s Keep castle was now safe to enter. Roberta wandered the halls to see how much damage had been done, both by the dragon and Madalena. 

Some walls had been completely demolished and the stone outside had deep gouge marks from Tad Cooper’s claws, but she was relieved that the castle would likely be repairable. Although it looked like the dragon had been nesting in the east wing. 

Madalena, however, did not have Tad Cooper’s subtle touch.

Half the castle had been redecorated in dark, draped fabrics of either purple or black. Apparently Madalena took the whole being evil thing at its most cliche. The paintings of Roberta, Richard, and their families were gone. Roberta would later find them stacked in her bedroom.

Isabella found her staring in horror at a tapestry depicting Madalena’s rise to power which was now taking up the wall of an entire hallway. “How long was she even here?” Roberta asked, arms wrapped around her waist. 

Isabella gave it a disgusted look and tugged on a corner, but it had been nailed into the stone. “About a month. You’ve been gone for two. Galavant found some nobles that had been trapped down in the cellars, by the way. They’ve been sent home.”

Roberta closed her eyes. “Please tell me one of them wasn’t Lady Constance of Culmington.”

“I’m afraid so,” Isabella said. She took a step closer and laid a hand on Roberta’s arm. “I’ve been thinking. Richard’s under some sort of curse, right? Have you tried true love’s kiss?”

Roberta shook her head, looking down. “It wouldn’t work. He doesn’t love me right now.”

“No, but it’s true love’s kiss. It’s meant to show who’s your soulmate.”  
“I think you’re getting your fairy tales mixed. True love’s kiss is the kiss when you’re first truly in love.”

“That’s love’s first kiss!” Isabella started off down the hall. “Let’s check the library for this.”

“It’s blocked by a collapsed column.” 

“Oh. Well, you should try it anyway.” She gave Roberta a cheerful look. “It might even be fun.”

“You won’t say that when he’s run off because I molested him,” Roberta grumbled. There had been times on that first adventure with Galavant when she had daydreamed about thoroughly pouncing Richard, but she’d always been glad that she had waited for him to come to her. It would not have gone well had she’d let her hormones get the best of her before he was ready. 

A servant coughed politely from down the hall. “The wizard has arrived, your majesty. He’s being taken to the the ballroom.” 

“We’ll be right there,” Roberta called to him.

He shifted on one foot before continuing, “And may I saw how nice it is to have you back, your majesty.”

Roberta smiled at him, touched. “Thank you. I’m also glad to be back.”

“We’d better go meet up with Galavant and Richard, or Carlton, I guess.” Isabella took her arm as they began to walk down the hall. “Are you still mad at him?”

“No,” Roberta sighed. “It’s just…how many times can I almost lose my husband in two days? And from his own stubborn disbelief this time! I don't know how he can refuse to believe in the things right in front of his face.”

“Well, I’m sure the wizard can help.”

“Let’s hope that wizard is Xanax,” Roberta said, making Isabella laugh. 

*******

The wizard Rex Machina turned out to be exactly what Lassiter imagined, beard, pointy hat, and all. He looked like one of the little statues that were sometimes sold in gas stations, complete with crystal ball. 

“I believe you’ve asked me here to explain everything?” the wizard asked.

They were standing in a a large hall which Lassiter had been told was the ballroom. Apparently they would normally have this sort of meeting in the throne room, but it had been trashed by his pet dragon.

“He’s lost his memories and had them replaced with ones from a completely different person,” Galavant said.

Rex lifted his crystal ball and peered through it. “That is dark magic. I will look into the depth of the nexus and see what curse has been cast upon him.”

Lassiter cast an irritated look up at the ceiling. It seemed shysters were the same in any time period. 

He heard a door open behind him and turned as Isabella and Roberta entered. He started towards her, only for Rex to hold out a hand to stop him. “Hold on one minute, I’m trying!” He began violently shaking the crystal ball, then holding it over his head and moving it around as if trying to get a signal. “I charged the bloody thing before I left.”

Lassiter gave him a sardonic look. “Oh, is the magic rock not working?”

Rex was now eyeing him as if he might burst into flames. “No, it’s not. I’ve never had this happen before.”

“Convenient,” Lassiter muttered. He hoped they hadn’t paid this guy anything yet. Who knew how many people he’d swindled with this little routine. 

Roberta stepped forward. “Can you try it on me? I was hit with the same spell, sort of.”

“No, Roberta—” Lassiter started to say, but the wizard was already looking through the crystal ball at her. 

“Hmmm, interesting! I can see it now. You were hit by a botched world traveler spell.” 

“Botched?” Roberta asked. “It seemed to work very well.”

“Oh, I’m sure it did. But there are traces of another spell mixed in with this one. It’s called the It’s a Miserable Life. It’s supposed to erase all trace of a person from the world. But by mixing it with the world traveler, Madalena may have created an entirely new identity for him in the other world instead.” 

Roberta had gone very pale. “So he isn’t really Richard after all?”

“No, he’s still the same person. Just with memories of living in another world.” Rex peered into the crystal ball and run his thumb down the side as if scrolling through text. “When Madalena said that she would make it as if he had never been born, she meant to use the Miserable Life spell on him. But then she wanted to hold you as a hostage, so she cast the world traveler, but Richard jumping in front of you confused her, causing her to mix the two spells together. Richard got hit with the first wave and you were caught in the backwash. Typical young magic user,” he tisked. 

“Wow, this guy is really good,” Galavant said. 

Rex Machina ran a hand over his beard, preening. 

Isabella pulled a chair over for Roberta to sit down. “Mr. Machina, Carlton walked right into a dragon breathing fire earlier but didn’t get burned. Is this another side effect?”

Lassiter huffed a bit at that interpretation of his actions. It wasn’t like he had sprinted into Tad Cooper’s mouth or anything.

Rex examined him with one rheumy eye. “Your highness, this world that you come from, does it have magic of any kind?”

“I once caught a Chris Angel special on TV.” When everyone just looked at him without comprehension, Lassiter crossed his arms. “No, none. Magic doesn't exist.”

“Then that’s it.” Rex snapped his fingers. “His very unbelief while being in a world with magic protects him. While he is cursed, he cannot be affected by magical means.” 

“Any magic at all?” Galavant said, sounding thoughtful. “That certainly explains why we haven’t had a musical number since he got back.”

“Shall I try a spell on him to test it out?” Rex asked.

“Turn his hair pink!” Isabella exclaimed. Seeing Lassiter’s scowl, she added, “Then change it back.”

Machina waved the crystal ball in Lassiter’s face. Lassiter did not try to hide his bored expression. He had sat through at least one of these shows every day at work for years. 

“Judging by Isabella’s disappointed look, I”m guessing my hair isn’t pink,” he said when the so-called wizard stopped. 

Rex only shook his head, a grin spreading across his wrinkled features. “Let’s try to turning you into a slug. Always wanted to practice this one.”

Before that idea could take off, Roberta asked, “How do we break the curse?”

Rex gave Lassiter a vague smile. “That depends entirely upon Richard.”

“What about true love’s kiss?” Isabella asked. 

Rex shrugged. “It could be anything. He could need to drink water out of a stump under a full moon. Or sleep in a fairy circle for a week.”

“And knowing Madalena, it would involve a lot more than kissing anyway,” Galavant said dryly.

Lassiter’s stomach dropped. 

Rex Machina slipped the crystal ball into a pouch and stuffed it into his robes. “Perhaps we’ll see each other in the end when all seems hopeless and you need an all-powerful figure to come in and save you all?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t seem likely,” Lassiter said. “The exit’s over there.” 

Isabella went to hand the old man a few coins as Galavant pulled Roberta over near Lassiter. “This curse is the answer to all our problems.” 

“How so?” Roberta asked, giving an incredulous laugh.

“Richard is immune to magic. Madalena can’t hurt him! Now is the time to finish her off.” He paused, a hand going to his chin. “Actually we’d better kill this DEL character while we’re at it.” 

Lassiter shook his head, trying to follow the threads of this story he’d been dropped into. “DEL?”

“Dark Evil Lord. Madalena has been learning evil magic from him for the past year.”

“And what makes you think I can kill him? You people don’t have guns yet.” Lassiter wanted to add that any evil lords should be arrested and tried in the court of law, but decided that it didn’t really matter. From what he had seen so far, he probably was the court of law. 

“Well, you do have a dragon,” Isabella said. 

“Although it’s probably not a bad idea to learn to fight with a sword either,” Galavant added. “And we’d better hold some king lessons while we at it.”

“What? Why?” Lassiter said.

“Richard, how do you think your enemies will react when they find out that you’ve forgotten everything and that you think you’re actually from another world?”

“Not…well.”

“Exactly.”

Isabella’s eyes were alight with planning. “And I can teach you kingly etiquette. My father is an excellent ruler. And Roberta will help you with remembering who your individual subjects are and other Richard-like things.” 

Lassiter noted that Roberta didn’t exactly look enthusiastic about this prospect. 

“And in the meantime,“ Galavant fixed them both with a stern look. “No kissing. No sex. Better avoid cuddling period actually.”

Lassiter grimaced. He was not a cuddler by any means. “That won’t be a problem.”

He realized how it had sounded when Roberta flinched as if he had struck her. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“No, wait, Roberta—”

She ignored him and swept from the hall.

Lassiter started after her but ground to a halt as a memory of his ex-wife telling him that he was incapable of giving or receiving love shot through his mind. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he growled to Galavant and Isabella and then stalked off in the opposite direction. 

He headed down a hall draped with black fabric, eyeing it with distaste. Richard’s decorating tastes clearly ran towards the Hot Topic look. He couldn’t see Roberta choosing to deck out her castle with such depressing colors. 

In that moment he almost hated that other man who had disappeared and left Lassiter with shoes that he could never fill. Whatever that conman in the ballroom had said, he wasn’t about to start believing that he was really an amnesiac king. But how was he supposed to act like Richard for the next few days without hurting Roberta further? He was slowly realizing that even though this was all a dream, the people in it still acted real. He couldn’t go on as if his actions didn’t have consequences. 

So he would let them give him king lessons, as much good as it would do. And then Roberta would see that he was no Richard. Especially once she realized that Lassiter was just a man, one who was likely incapable of loving someone back, not a valiant king. 

He could almost see their backstory now. They had probably met at some ball, and Richard had swept her off her feet. Dashing, an excellent sword fighter, respected by all, who wouldn’t have fallen for Richard?

He was torturing himself with a long list of comparisons between his failed marriage and how Roberta and Richard’s probably was when he tripped on a sword of all things sticking out of the stone floor.

Lassiter looked up, suddenly aware that he had no idea where he was. The room around him had been absolutely trashed. One entire wall was missing, and the sky was lit with more stars than he had ever seen in his life. The nearby village glowed faintly from the fires in the little houses. 

Two chairs sat on a raised area of the floor before him. From their tall backs and armrests they had to be thrones.

And he had tripped on a sword stuck in a stone at the edge of the raised area. 

Well, when in medieval Rome, so to speak. He grasped the sword’s handle and gave it a tug. It didn’t even shift. 

Lassiter didn’t waste energy yanking or exerting any more strength. He knew the rules of this game. More than likely King Arthur would show up, steal Roberta from him, and save the day. And he would look exactly like Spencer, but with a beard.

He gave the sword a kick, wincing as it reverberated up his leg. 

Lassiter sat down next to it and put his head in one hand. Trapped in a dream where he was literally a king with an actual castle, and all it was doing was serving to remind him of his own inadequacies. 

*****

The following morning, a commotion from the adjoining room made Roberta poke her head out of her closet door midway through getting dressed. She felt a brief flash of anger as her eyes fell across her bed, blankets disturbed only on one side. She had waited up for some time in hopes that Carlton would come in and they could talk, but she had spent half the night fuming and he had never appeared. 

Speaking of which, she could hear Carlton and Galavant’s strident voices coming through the door to his bedroom, so she hurriedly finished tying up the stays on her dress. 

She went to the door and slipped inside, sitting down near the fireplace and trying to look unobtrusive. Carlton was standing in front of his dressing room, holding a pile of clothes. He looked very tired. When he noticed her come in, he tried to catch her eye, but she ignored him. 

Galavant was digging through Richard’s clothes and throwing various pieces at Carlton. “We’ve got to find something that shows strength. Especially now that you’re missing your beard. It makes your face look all…cramped.”

Carlton scowled at the knight over his armful of clothing. “I thought you said you were my best friend.” 

“Which is why I’m being honest. Not even a king can buy honesty.” Galavant turned as Isabella joined them from the adjacent sitting room and greeted her with a kiss. “Hello, my love.”

“Hi,” she whispered back.

Roberta’s heart sank when Carlton grimaced at the display. She could well imagine his disgust if she ever tried to approach him. 

Galavant turned to Roberta. “Some of your subjects are coming later for Richard to hold court.”

Roberta felt her throat constrict at the prospect. “What are we going to do?”

Galavant handed Carlton a doublet, which Isabella then grabbed and replaced with a different one. “Well, you’ve held court before. I’m sure you can take the lead and help Richard here with giving decrees and whatnot.” He pushed Carlton into the dressing room. 

Roberta swallowed hard, looking away. She had avoided most of the politics beyond speaking with the common people and sitting in on Richard’s court sessions. She wasn't even a good queen with Richard’s good natured strength at her side. How was she supposed to help Carlton when she was an imposter herself? 

Isabella noticed her panicked look. “And we’ll have a quick lesson on etiquette over breakfast.”

Roberta wondered how that was supposed to make her feel better but didn't say so aloud. 

Soon after, Carlton stepped out of the dressing room, looking anxiously at her for approval. He was dressed in Richard’s favorite gray and black doublet, with black trousers accentuating the length of his legs. Except for the lack of beard, it was if her husband had stepped back into the room after a long absence. 

Isabella smiled at them both, obviously having chosen the outfit in hopes of making things feel more normal. “Roberta, why don’t you pick out one of Richard’s crowns?”

Heart in her throat, Roberta turned and jerkily opened up the chest that held everything from formal to day-wear crowns. She selected one at random, only knowing that it was one he never wore.

She approached Carlton, who was staring at her uncertainly, mouth parted. She slowly raised the crown and placed it onto his head.

It was like a knife to the gut. 

She turned and nearly ran for the door. “I’ll go check on breakfast.” Fleeing out of rooms in tears was starting to become a real habit for her. 

One hand pressed to her mouth to stifle any sound and the other pressed to her stomach, she hurried down the hall. It was stupid to expect him to just magically wake up just because of some dumb, metal hat. Stupid to get her hopes up. 

*****

Lassiter reached up and tore the crown off his head, thrusting it into Galavant’s hand. 

He began pulling at the strings that tied his leather shirt together, cursing when they only got tangled. “Get it off.” 

Galavant tried to put the crown back on him. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t like it. I’ve got to take all this off. God, what was I thinking?”

“Wait, Richard, stop.”

“No!” Lassiter whirled on him. “It’s Carlton. I’m only hurting Roberta by pretending otherwise.”

“You just need to give her some time.”

“Forget that!” Isabella stepped forward, catching his hands. “You need to go after her.” She began retying the lacing.

“But…what do I say?” 

“Tell her you’re sorry.” Galavant used his distraction to get the crown back on him. 

“And that you’re there for her,” Isabella added, now leading him to the door.

“But don’t kiss and make up, because that could lead to you getting killed.” And with that, they shoved him out of the room.

Heart pounding, Lassiter stared at the closed door for a moment before setting his jaw and starting off down the hall. 

He found Roberta leaning against the wall in an alcove beneath the stairs. Her head was bowed, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders. 

Carlton approached, chest constricting. He didn’t know the first thing about comforting women, or anyone for that matter. But the memory of being on the rooftop with her came to mind then, and he stepped next to her so that his shoulder touched hers.

The fear that she would shove him away vanished as she leaned into him. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding a bit waterlogged. “I shouldn’t have run off.”

“It’s okay,” Lassiter managed, throat tight. “Look, I know you’re disappointed that I’m not anything like Richard. I’ll tell Galavant and Isabella to take their king lessons and go to hell.”

“What?” Roberta’s head jerked up. “How in the world did you come to that conclusion? I didn’t run off because I’m disappointed. I ran off because it hurts seeing my husband right in front of me but he doesn’t remember me. I stopped doubting that you were him that night on the roof.” She pulled aside the collar of this shirt to touch the birthmark on his shoulder. “I gave you this. When you jumped in front of Madalena’s spell and saved my life.”

“I thought we established that it was a birthmark.” Lassiter tried to crane his neck to look at his shoulder. “Also, you stabbed me?”

“Accidentally,” she responded. “I’m willing to go along with Galavant’s plan for the good of the kingdom, but I don’t want you to think of yourself as a substitution.”

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying. “For treating this world like nothing matters. Like you don’t matter. And for sort of saying that I wouldn’t like to kiss or touch you. Because I would like to. A lot. I just don’t do cuddling.”

A smile lit Roberta’s eyes, and she moved into his arms, tilting her head towards his with an almost questioning look. “It seems to me that you’re in a whole new world now, my king.”

Lassiter froze, scared of the emotion he could feel rising in his chest. He wanted what she was offering so badly. But then what would he be left with when the dream ended and he was alone again?

He jerked back so quickly that his head hit the stones behind him. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Roberta blinked open her eyes in confusion. 

“Yes, that. Breakfast. We should go get breakfast.” He turned and headed down the hall.

“It’s this way,” Roberta said, gesturing back up the stairs. 

“Right,” Lassiter muttered, making sure to keep a few feet distance between them. This was starting to become the worst dream ever.


	8. Chapter 8

Her day had already started with an onslaught of emotional mountains and valleys, so Roberta was unsurprised that breakfast was no different. 

Galavant had mentioned Isabella’s bossiness in the past, but Roberta didn’t really realize what that meant until they started eating. 

“No, Richard, elbow tucked in more. And place your fingers like this on the fork. Head looking up. The king’s food comes to him, not the other way around.”

Carlton looked long-sufferingly down the table at Roberta but did as instructed. She gave him a sympathetic smile in return. 

Isabella noticed him watching Roberta. “Actually, while we’re on the subject, your posture could be a little straighter, Roberta.” 

Roberta flushed, thinking of her days in the army shoveling down food before skirmishes. If Isabella could have seen her then. She obediently sat up straight. 

Isabella then turned to her husband. “Gal, don’t you think you could chew a little more quietly?”

Galavant gave a derisive chuckle. “That’s a bit rich coming from you.”

She put her hand on her hips. “Aren’t we over my deviated septum by now?”

“And what’s with all these obscure rules? Like anyone is even going to notice how he holds his elbow. He’s the bloody king! He’s doing pretty well for a man who used to have his chef hand feed him.”

“Wait, what?” Carlton asked, but Isabella was already talking over him.

“My father would notice!”

“Oh, your father! Well, we can’t all be your father.”

“It would certainly do you good as far as your hygiene is concerned.” 

Carlton leaned over to catch Roberta’s eye around Galavant’s angry gesturing. “Do you want to—?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” She darted out of her chair and they made their escape from the hall unnoticed. 

“Wow,” Carlton said when they were a distance away. “Are they always like that?”

“They’ve been blissfully happy whenever I’ve seen them. But I guess there’s bound to be disagreements in every marriage.”

“What are your fights with Richard about?”

“Oh, the usual. Whose turn it is to take Tad Cooper out for a walk. How often we have to visit the houses of the local lords.”

“Why was there a fight about that?”  
“Because I hate all the rules and niceties we go through whenever we visit the nobles. To be honest, Richard, I’m not a very good queen. If there wasn’t a prophesy saying you were the one true king to unite them all, I would have talked you into running an inn or something.”

He seemed to be taking that all in. “I’m sure you’re a great queen.”

Roberta smiled at the conviction in his voice. “With the commoners maybe. I just don’t know what to say to anyone above a peasant.”

As if on cue, none other than Lady Constance of Culmington suddenly walked across the hallway in front of them, and Roberta felt a spear of terror shoot up her spine. She was darting inside the closet to her right before she was even consciously aware of it. 

Carlton spun almost in a circle when she seemed to just vanish from beside him. His eyebrows raised when he saw her inside the closet. Roberta gestured at him urgently to get inside. Giving her a confused look, he obeyed. 

“Who was that?” he asked as she swung the door shut. 

“Lady Constance,” Roberta whispered miserably. “I suggested that she hang a tapestry of a hunting scene in her guest bedroom last time.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Her husband died in a hunting accident last year,” she hissed. 

“Oh.”

“Precisely.” Roberta then noticed with bittersweet amusement that the closet that they were in was one that she and Richard had visited on that last day.

She felt herself grow warm as the memory came back to her and she pressed back further towards the wall. It didn’t do much good. The closet was now stuffed with what she suspected was the decor that Madalena had taken down, and she and Carlton seemed to be pressed together no matter how much she tried to get away. 

Carlton’s gaze was riveted on the door, and she would have thought that he was desperate to escape, but when she accidentally grasped the front of his shirt to get her balance, she felt his heart racing. And suddenly things like curses and killing evil lords seemed like someone else’s problem.

Carlton’s breathing sounded decidedly unsteady. “Roberta, you don’t want me. Not really.”

She breathed out a laugh. He was just asking for her to prove him wrong. Laying a hand flat on his chest for balance, she went up on her toes, stopping just short of reaching his mouth and waiting to see if he would come to her. She would not judge him if he wasn’t ready and wouldn’t push him any further. Her eyes closed as Carlton’s head tilted, his gaze falling to her mouth. 

Unfortunately, the decision was taken out of Carlton’s hands when the door to the closet flew open. Carlton’s back hit the closet wall, and Roberta tripped on her own skirts, slipping to the floor between his legs in a tangle of gown. 

Galavant stood by the open door, disapproval written clearly on his features. “I knew it. Well, chaperones it is. You’ve earned it.”

He reached in and pulled Carlton out so that Roberta had room to right herself. “Richard?” he asked, peering closely at Carlton’s face.

“Nope, afraid not,” Carlton replied unsteadily.

Roberta slunk from the closet, trying hard not to feel like a damsel scolded by her matron. “Did you and Isabella make up?”

Galavant glared at the floor. “No. It’s this bloody singing problem. I don’t know how to apologize and tell her I love her without a song.”

“It does make coming to realizations more difficult,” Roberta said. 

“Is this about trying to sing to the dragon?” Carlton asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Galavant clapped him on the back and started down the hall. “Something like that. Now, come on, it’s time for you to play king, Richard.”

“Lovely,” Carlton muttered. 

Roberta followed, the excitement of the closet replaced with anxiety rising in her chest at the thought of facing half the kingdom so soon. At that moment, marching off to kill dozens of evil lords didn’t sound so bad.

Fortunately, half the kingdom was an exaggeration, although there was a larger grouping of villagers and lords than usually showed up to court. The missing wall made the room seem much more open and airy, though Roberta wished the staff could have scrubbed more of the burn marks off the floor when they were clearing the debris. 

She noticed Carlton scowling at one of the stones near the edge of the dais but quickly forgot about it as the herald announced their official return as king and queen of the realm. 

She got to see the singing problem firsthand when the local children’s choir attempted to open the proceedings and ended up mostly in tears when they all started singing at different speeds and volumes. Of course, maybe that was how they always sounded.

Carlton turned to her as the choir was ushered off and they took their seats on the thrones. “What if someone asks about the economy or foreign policy?”

“What are those?” Roberta asked from the side of her mouth. 

He turned back to the line of nobles waiting to speak. “This can’t end well.”

Roberta sighed inwardly when none other than Lady Constance approached the thrones first. At least she remembered her name this time. “Lady Constance of Culmington, my king,” she reminded Carlton.

“Lady Constance,” Carlton said in greeting, voice shaking just slightly.

“Your majesties, may I just say how delighted I am that you have returned to us? And also with such an interesting change in castle decor.” She did not cast a pointed at the general disarray of the room, but it was definitely implied. 

There was a long pause that threatened to become painful before Carlton spoke. “Thank you.”

Roberta prayed that she was done, but her prayers were not to be answered, for Lady Constance continued, “But Queen Roberta, I’m afraid you didn’t finish answering my question from the last I saw you. How should I decorate the upstairs guest bedroom?”

Roberta clasped her hands tightly, mind racing to formulate an apology for the whole hunting tapestry fiasco. 

The other woman cast a pious look at the ground. “It would have already been done, but of course, I was trapped down in your cellars while you were away.”

The lady spoke as if they had left on vacation and forgotten about her. Roberta swallowed, her dress suddenly seeming overly hot and tight. Some queen she was, not even able to answer a stupid question. And what was she thinking, agreeing to hold court when her castle was in ruins? 

Carlton suddenly spoke from beside her. “Can we have the room?” 

The royal guards looked somewhat surprised but began ushering the nobles back out into the hall while Carlton waved at the door. “That’s it. Everybody out.” He held up his hand in a “five minutes” gesture as the herald shut the door behind him. 

Roberta leaned forward to bury her hands in her hair, her breathing slowing now that they were alone. “I’m a terrible queen. I can’t even handle one old woman asking for decorating tips.”

She yelped in surprise when her throne suddenly shifted under her, Carlton having risen to his feet and turned it sideways. He did the same with his own throne until it faced hers, then returned to his seat, resting his forearms on his knees so that he was level with her. 

“Okay, let’s break down that statement. What makes a good queen?”

The list came easily. It had been growing a lot over the last year. “Someone who isn’t intimidated by her subjects. Who can make decisions without having to rely on her husband for everything. She keeps her castle in order and dresses appropriately for court. She doesn’t run away when she’s afraid. And she doesn’t let herself be outmaneuvered and sent away by evil enchantresses.” 

Carlton nodded thoughtfully. “And which queen of whatever neighboring kingdom matches this description?”

Roberta blinked. “Well, no one in particular.”

“So who are you comparing yourself to?”

And then it was right in front of her, like he had lit a torch in the darkness. “Oh my god, you’re right,” she murmured, feeling almost lightheaded with the realization. “I’ve been comparing myself to this imaginary queen in my head whose voice sounds like my mother’s.” She had let herself forget about that woman who protected her kingdom from the lowly ranks of the citizen’s army, who had stopped the battle of giants versus dwarfs by fixing the damn bridge herself. 

She surged forward to throw her arms around Carlton, laughing when he pulled her nearly out of her chair. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he replied, moving her hair out of his face. “I know what it’s like to feel inadequate. But while I’m here, I promise that you won’t feel that way.” He squeezed her to his chest, making her squeak. “So, what are we going to do about Lady Constance?” he spoke in a scratchy high-pitched tone when saying her name to mimic the lady’s voice. 

Roberta’s eye caught a black pillow with a purple sheen that a servant had hastily stuffed behind a nearby pedestal. “My king, I think I have an idea.”

By the time the royal guards opened the doors again, Roberta and Carlton had righted their thrones and were watching serenely as the murmuring nobles filed back into the room. 

Roberta nodded at Lady Constance to approach the thrones. “Your ladyship, the king and I had a quick conference about your problem and we believe we have found the perfect solution. Since you were so complimentary about our new decor, we have some black tapestries and things that it would be a pleasure to give you. As a gift to make up from your time in our cellars.”

And to save us the trouble of burning them, Roberta thought. 

Lady Constance’s smile was frozen in place. “Your highnesses are too generous. I couldn’t possibly accept—”

“Nonsense,” Carlton scoffed. “We think black is the perfect thing for your—what was it? Dining room?”

“Guest bedroom,” Roberta supplied smoothly.

“Black is the color this season,” Lady Constance said, although she still looked taken aback. “My neighbor painted his entire castle black.”

The calculating smile dropped off Carlton’s face, and he leaned forward at that. “Do you know this neighbor?”

“It was Lord Noring, but I haven’t heard from him in months. Do you think I should paint my castle to match?”

Carlton was silent for a long moment, wheels turning, then he said, “I need to see it myself. Why don’t Roberta and I visit you later this week?”

Roberta tried to make her turning to look at him with horror inconspicuous. Why was he ruining their victory with an interminable afternoon in a stuffy castle filled with sniffling little dogs? 

Lady Constance was giving the people around her a superiorly satisfied look. She may have just had a castle-worth of depressing fabrics foisted off on her, but a visit from the one true king was still a boon to her social status. “I would be delighted! I’ll start planning the menu now. What foods do your majesties prefer?”

“My staff will tell you everything you need to know.” A wise move on his part as he didn't remember what Richard liked. “And be sure to have them give you the decorations.”

A guard led Lady Constance away, even as she was still thanking them. 

And so the next noble stepped forward and they worked their way through everything from moody princesses and an oddly shaped mole to cows that were off their feed and servants who might be moving the furniture an inch every day so that the lady of the castle would keep bumping into things. 

Roberta was pleased when the village blacksmith, one of the friends she had made since becoming queen, came to welcome them back and surprised her with a sword to replace her ruined one. 

Carlton at first seemed incredulous at the trivial things brought before him, but as the morning wore on, he started to take more of an interest, asking question after question before giving his advice. Roberta figured he must be falling back on his training as a detective, as his manner reminded her very much of when they had questioned the healers in the asylum. 

He had already changed since then. While she had only known this version of her husband two days, she had seen how he hid his emotions and personal thoughts behind his job. That wall had started to crack when he had comforted her on the roof. And now, watching him with his subjects, there was an underlying compassion there that she had not seen in him since before the curse. 

When the last of the villagers left and they were alone in the court, Roberta slumped back in her throne. 

Carlton adjusted his crown. “That’s all there is to being a king? It’s like running a kindergarten.” 

“Just wait until you have to deal with two war-crazed monarchs at each other’s throats,” Roberta said. “You’re in charge of them all, you know. Also there are things like taxes and food shortages and plagues and—”

“All right, all right, I get it,” Carlton said. “Do you think I can get away with issuing a royal proclamation that leeching is bad for you? I don’t think anachronisms matter in a dream.”

“That’s advice I wouldn’t advise giving, my king.”

He took her hand almost absently. “You were brilliant with that Constance woman. It was like killing two birds with one stone.”

That reminded her that she was mad at him, and she dropped his hand. “You just had to invite us over to her house. And right after I told you that this is one of the things that we fight about.”

“Oh, right!” He rose to stand at the edge of the dais, gesturing down at where Constance had stood earlier. “Do you remember what she said about her neighbor’s black castle? Now who do we know that loves black?”

Roberta raised an eyebrow at the black cushion stuffed behind the pedestal. “You think that Madalena is hiding out next door to Lady Constance?”

He shrugged. “It’s worth checking out. Besides, it’s a bad idea to stay here. Dragon or not, this is going to be one of the first places Madalena looks. I’m a little surprised that she hasn’t found us already.”

“All right. I suppose an afternoon of finger sandwiches and her horrid little dogs won’t be so awful if I’m with you.”

She made to get up but dropped back down into her seat in surprise when he moved to rest his hands on either one of her armrests, blocking her in. “We can always sneak off like we did this morning.”

Roberta grinned at the playful expression in his eyes, but before she could respond, Isabella strode through the doors next to the thrones. “Oh, Richard? Time for sword practice.”

Carlton growled, “Do they have an alarm system or something?”

Roberta was feeling rather uncharitable towards Izzy herself.

*****

Lassiter gritted his teeth as Galavant once again sent his sword spinning end over end into the brush. He had been trapped in a medieval-themed dream for over forty-eight hours and sword practice was becoming something he both loved and hated. He enjoyed the exertion of it as well as the mental acuity needed to navigate footwork and blocking while wearing heavy armor, but he wasn’t used to being bashed about all day in armed combat.

“This isn’t teaching him anything,” Isabella called from where she was sparring with Roberta. 

Galavant stabbed his sword into the grass so he could place both hands on his hips. “It’s what you did with me!”

“Yes, but you weren’t a deluded monarch with barely any training to begin with.”

Lassiter decided he’d better get out of the way of the ensuing argument. “I’ll get it,” he said without enthusiasm as he tramped off into the thick growth of bushes along the castle wall. 

They were practicing in a small overgrown courtyard with a view of the sea. Tad Cooper was napping in the sun on the beach below. Lassiter was starting to wish that he could join the dragon.

He found his sword resting on the ground near a tree and braced a hand on his knee to pick it up, back twinging from the added weight of the armor. He did a double take when he saw another sword sticking out one of the stones in the castle wall. And while he couldn’t be sure, because it had been dark at the time, he could have sworn that it was the sword from the stone in the throne room. Why in the world had someone stuck it out here?

Raising a hand to push his visor up, Lassiter craned his neck back to look up at the castle tower above him. Maybe it had fallen out a window somehow. 

Or maybe it was here to taunt him. 

“You’ve made your point,” he growled at the sword. Then he stalked back out into the open area of the courtyard.

Isabella was now standing chest to chest with Galavant’s breastplate. “Well, you were a drunk, washed up knight whose exploits were greatly exaggerated by horny poets.”

“At least my father didn’t wish I was a boy!”

Isabella raised her sword. “I’ll beat you right now as well as any boy.”

Galavant drew his own. “You’re going to wish I was drunk so you’d have a chance of winning.”

Isabella swung first, a blindingly fast stab that Galavant barely managed to dodge. They fenced back across the courtyard, Galavant’s powerful swings offsetting Isabella’s advanced footwork and speed. 

Lassiter clanked over to join Roberta by the wall.

Before a well-timed blow from Galavant’s gauntlet had sent him sprawling for not paying attention yesterday, Lassiter had tried to gauge her reaction to his mediocre sword fighting skills. She had mostly looked amused, which he supposed was better than disappointed or bored. 

Roberta handed him a goblet of water as he leaned back against the castle wall. He gave her a grateful smile as he removed his helmet and finished it off in two swallows. 

“Do you think we should stop them?”

Lassiter wiped his mouth, watching as Isabella performed an unnecessary running flip off the side wall. “This is them working things out.”

“Want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.”

They hadn't even made it out of the courtyard before a servant stepped in front of them. “I’m afraid it’s time to feed the dragon, your highness.”

Lassiter scowled at the man, wondering how Richard would handle this. He hadn’t had two seconds alone with Roberta since yesterday morning thanks to Galavant and Isabella’s vigilance. 

But then he pictured the little man getting eaten by said dragon and gave in. “Oh, all right.” 

There was a clang from behind them as Galavant managed to disarm Isabella. “Ha! In your face!”

Isabella stomped on his foot and stalked off towards them, head held high. “Roberta, would you help me pack?”

Roberta gave Lassiter a helpless look as she was dragged off. 

Galavant bent over to rest his hands on his knees, panting. “Okay, we need to break your curse before we kill each other.”

“Working on it,” Lassiter growled, watching Roberta disappear through a door down the hall. 

Galavant noticed the servant waiting beneath the stone archway. “Oh, are you going to try to feed Tad Cooper? Good, I’ll come with you.”

“Yay,” Lassiter said under his breath.

After removing their amor, they collected four sheep from the pen beside the castle and made their way down the beach, Lassiter struggling with their leads while Galavant was too busy brooding to notice or help. 

Tad Cooper opened one eye to regard them as they approached. He apparently recognized Lassiter because he let out a long hiss, flaring the spikes under his chin.

Lassiter tied the sheep to a log of driftwood, rolling his eyes when he saw that Galavant had already retreated thirty feet away and halfway behind some rocks. 

“Come on,” he told the dragon. “Eat your food.”

Tad Cooper’s only response was to paw at his mouth again, and Lassiter winced as the claws caught on his scales, pulling some free. 

“Look,” he said, pitching his voice low so Galavant couldn’t hear him over the crashing waves. “I know I’m not the one you want. But I don’t know what else to do here. Please, please, just eat.”

The dragon looked away.

Lassiter dropped down onto the driftwood, pushing away one of the sheep when it tried to chew on a corner of his shirt. “I give up.”

Galavant cautiously approached, hands out in a placating gesture towards Tad Cooper. “Hey, so this doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Lassiter snarled at him. “That overgrown lizard is the only honest one here. It knows that I’m not Richard, even if you all won’t admit it. And now it’s going to starve to death because I don’t know what to do.” He realized with mortification that he sounded close to tears and angrily swiped at his eyes. 

The driftwood rocked as Galavant took a seat next to him. “Richard, has Roberta told you about when you first got Tad Cooper?”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Well, too bad because I’m telling you. We were trying to dredge up an army to save Isabella and we couldn’t use yours because your kingdom had become a democracy while you were away, so we were trying to buy one using the priceless jewel of Valencia. Well you just went off and traded it for this lizard because some con artist told you it was a dragon. And you were so insistent that Tad Cooper was a dragon that you almost got killed in a battle because he wouldn’t breathe fire on this evil wizard guy.”

Lassiter shook his head, hung up in the details. He finally said, “So, what you’re saying is…I need to believe in myself just like Richard believed in Tad Cooper?”

“No, I’m saying you were an idiot then and you’re an idiot now. Look, Richard, it’s the stupidest thing in the world to compare yourself to yourself. When I first met you, you were a despotic wimp who thought he could never measure up, but after we traveled and went to war together, I saw you become a real man who fought his own fights and stood up for what is just and good. And frankly, I don’t see much difference between that man and who you are now, even without your memories. So stop being an idiot and going back to thinking yourself second best, especially since you’re thinking yourself inferior to yourself.”

The words struck at him like arrows, penetrating the confusion and doubt that he’d built up around himself the past few days. He had been fighting against believing that this fantasy world was real, but he’d built up an entirely different fantasy in his head based on wild assumptions. Galavant was right; it was idiotic. Worse than that, it was ignoring evidence that had been staring him in the face. 

Lassiter stared at the ground, mind whirling. “You’re right,” he said, eyes wide. “All this time I’ve been kicking myself for not doing what Richard would do, when I had made up this pretend version of who Richard was. Oh god, and after I had a whole conversation about this with Roberta earlier. How could I be so dense?”

Galavant slapped him on the back. “I blame how you were raised. Did you know your parents used to hire children to play with you?”

“Wait, really?” 

“Yup. That’s how you and Roberta met. Did she not tell you any of this?”

Lassiter absently laid a hand on the back of one of the sheep. “I can’t believe my parents paid her to be my friend. I thought that we met at a royal ball or maybe that I rescued her from a forced marriage to an evil king.”

Galavant burst out laughing. “You’ve got that backwards. Are you ready for me to blow your mind? You and I met when you kidnapped the woman I thought was my one true love and sort of forced her into marriage but really she chose it for the riches and power.” 

Lassiter nearly choked. “Wait, we’re not talking about Roberta here, are we?”

“Nope! Madalena!” He grinned at Lassiter’s flabbergasted expression.

“I was married to Madalena?! Why does no one tell me these things?”

“You were married to her for like a year. Actually, you know what? You might still be married.” Seeing that Lassiter looked more than a little shellshocked, he added, “I wouldn’t worry about it. You never had sex, so it doesn’t count.” 

Lassiter took a deep breath, trying to get a handle on all the information that had just been dumped on him. He had really had no idea. 

The tragedy of having lost memories with Roberta struck him then. And not just the more intimate moments, because whatever his marriage with Madalena had been like, Roberta was more than comfortable touching and sneaking off into closets with him. But also memories of gifts he had given her, things that they had enjoyed doing together. Had they had a wedding? Had they talked about having kids? 

Lassiter reached up to touch his growing beard. Maybe this was a dream, and maybe it wasn’t. And while it was impossible for him to suddenly start believing that he was a different person, maybe he could enjoy his time in this medieval fantasy while it lasted. Maybe he could even learn play along with the rules of this new world, the sword fighting and the wizards and the castles. 

And, of course, the dragon. Tad Cooper bobbed his head, flaring out the spikes on his throat and opening his mouth to hiss again. Now that he was sitting at eye level, Lassiter had a clear view of the dragon’s jaw. There was something dark sticking out near the last few teeth. “Wait a minute,” he said softly, craning his head as Tad Cooper closed his mouth again. “I thought I saw…”

He rose from the driftwood as Tad Cooper regarded him warily. Lassiter reached out a hand to the dragon’s jaw, half expecting his arm to be bitten off. Instead Tad Cooper opened his mouth again, bumping his nose against Lassiter’s hand. Lassiter bent over to peer back behind the teeth and exhaled sharply to see a jagged piece of wood jammed into the back of the dragon’s jaw. 

“Don’t eat me,” he told the dragon sternly, before reaching his arm inside his mouth. He couldn’t see any fire glowing in Tad Cooper’s throat, but he was well aware if the dragon snapped his jaws closed, he would lose his arm up to his shoulder. 

He grimaced as his fingers closed over the edge of the chunk of wood, which was slimy with blood and saliva. It was a thin board about twice the size of a dinner plate. Reaching in with both hands now, he grasped the edge as best he could and gave it a yank. He felt the plank shift and Tad Cooper hissed again, curling his tail around his body and nearly forcing Lassiter off his feet.“Help me,” he grunted at Galavant. 

“Um, sure,” Galavant said uncertainly before coming up behind Lassiter and wrapping his arms around the other man’s chest. “On three. One, two—”

“Three!” Lassiter exclaimed, jerking back. 

The wood came free, sending both him and Galavant sprawling back into the sand. Barely even noticing that he was lying on top of the knight’s chest, Lassiter held up the chunk of wood. It appeared to be half a sign, with only the words “Dragon Tavern” still legible. 

Lassiter thrust the sign triumphantly into the air, laughing. It may have been a side effect of his relief at having helped Tad Cooper combined with his exhaustion from sword lessons and stress of the last few days, but suddenly pulling a tavern sign named after a dragon from a dragon’s mouth seemed the most hilarious thing ever. 

Galavant joined the laughter, pointing at Tad Cooper with a nearly incoherent shout of “We did it!” as Tad Cooper bobbed his head at them. 

Lassiter wiped at his streaming eyes and jabbed the sign down into the sand. “We should try this place sometime since Tad Cooper recommends it.” 

“If it’s still standing,” Galavant added before thwacking Lassiter on the arm. “You can get off me now.”

“Oh, right,” Lassiter jumped up off the knight, holding a hand down to help him up.

Tad Cooper worked his jaw as if trying to get it back in place, but he was now looking at the sheep with a predatory intent. 

“We’d better—” Galavant stopped mid-warning to pull Lassiter out of the way as the dragon lunged at the sheep. Tad Cooper didn’t even bother breathing fire this time, instead inhaling all four in two bites. 

“Wow,” Galavant said, watching the driftwood roll down the beach after being swiped by the dragon’s left wing. “Hey, see if you can get him to breath fire!”

Lassiter grinned in anticipation, pointing a finger at the log. “Okay, Tad Cooper, breath fire!”

But Tad Cooper only finished chewing and then ambled towards them, purring low in his throat and rubbing his head against Lassiter’s side. Lassiter found himself rubbing his palm against the scales on the dragon’s head. The dragon purred louder in response. 

“Well, so much for our secret dragon weapon,” Galavant said with a disappointed sigh.

Lassiter grinned over his shoulder at the knight. “Do you think he ever lets me ride him?”

Galavant gave the spikes along Tad Cooper’s sides a pointed look. “I don’t think you’d want to.”

Lassiter barely heard him, now scratching beneath Tad Cooper’s chin as the dragon opened its mouth, showing him the wound in his jaw. “Poor little fella, was that plank hurting you? Did you enjoy your meal? Is he a good boy?”

He heard a snort of laughter from behind him and realized that he was speaking in a high-pitched voice. And after he had always scoffed at people who spoke baby talk to their pets. Dropping his voice below his usual timbre, he turned to Galavant. “We should get back.” 

“You sure you wouldn't rather sleep out here with Tad Cooper?”

While he was planning on sneaking out later to check on the dragon’s jaw, Lassiter still bristled. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have a dragon pal.”

Music started playing out of nowhere, a cheerful, upbeat melody that almost reminded Lassiter of a showtune. He could even hear maracas. 

Lassiter started to take a step forward and swayed to a stop, unsure of where he was going but feeling like he should be doing something. “I don’t know the words,” he heard his own voice saying.

“That’s not good,” Galavant said as if from a long ways off. 

The music cut off as he was violently shaken. “Carlton! Wake up!”

Lassiter startled back to reality, shoving himself free of Galavant’s grasp. “What was that?” he demanded, pointing a finger up at the sky.

“What was what?” Galavant asked, eyes all too innocent. 

“There—there was music. And maracas!”

Galavant gave him a nervous smile before snapping his fingers. “Okay, I’ve got it.” He took Lassiter by the shoulders. “There was no music, Carlton. You’re in a dream, remember?” 

Lassiter shoved Galavant’s hands off of him again. “Don’t try to lie to me. I’m a cop. I know when I’m being lied to. Now what was that?”

Galavant sighed and crossed his arms. “Fine! That was the curse starting to break.”

“You’re telling me that you all just randomly hear music—”

“—And then burst into song, yes.”

Lassiter dragged a hand through his hair. “This is insane.”  
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.” Galavant’s voice softened. “Carlton, you can’t do this now. You have to remember that none of this is real, that you’re hallucinating or whatever, and especially that you don’t believe in magic, extra especially the evil kind that can kill you.”

“I think I’m losing my mind.” Lassiter rubbed his hands over his eyes. Then he straightened and pointed a finger at Galavant. “Wait a minute, you said ‘Carlton, wake up’ a minute ago!”

Galavant eyed him. “Yeah?”

“What if that was a doctor! What if the music was playing over the hospital sound system!”

Galavant shrugged, clearly out of his depth. “Yeah, sure, whatever works for you. Now come on, we’d better get back. God, it’s a good thing we’re leaving to end this thing tomorrow.”

Lassiter allowed himself to be hauled back to the castle, still casting suspicious looks up at the sky, even though the music really hadn’t seemed to come from anywhere in particular. What if he really was waking up? And what if he didn’t know how he felt about that?


	9. Chapter 9

They left at dawn the following day. Lassiter had been looking forward to traveling by horseback, but by four hours in he was wishing that Galavant hadn’t deemed the carriage “too conspicuous.”

Roberta moved her horse alongside his. “Feeling a bit uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine,” he responded stoically. It had taken him three tries to even get on the animal, his arms were so sore from yesterday. He had been glad that Roberta was off dealing with their packs and hadn’t seen a stableboy help push him into the saddle.

“Well, I’d like to walk for a bit,” she said, swinging onto the ground with the ease of years of riding. 

Sighing with gratitude, Lassiter fumbled with his reins until he was able to stop the horse. He clamored down from the saddle, dropping to the ground when his knees buckled out from under him. 

Roberta hauled him up and called ahead to Galavant and Izzy. “We’re going to walk!”

Isabella swung her horse around. “I thought we were trying to get there by tomorrow afternoon?”

“It won’t matter if we’re a bit late.”

“It’s not like there’s a standard time system set up anyway,” Lassiter said. 

“And the less time spent with Lady Constance, the better,” Roberta added under her breath.

Isabella shrugged in response and dismounted as well. When Galavant tried to walk his horse next to hers, she fell back next to Roberta. “I’ll join you,” she said, gesturing for Lassiter to go on ahead. 

Lassiter obeyed and pulled his horse forward by its reins. His knees felt fused together, but the stiffness lessened as he trudged onward.

He went to walk alongside Galavant, noting his moody expression. “She still not speaking to you?”

“No,” Galavant sighed. “We had a two-hour argument last night on the way I said ‘goodnight’ before bed.”

“Yikes.” Lassiter regarded the knight’s morose expression, wishing he had some advice to give. His marriage with Victoria could hardly be called a success, and he couldn’t remember how he and Roberta solved their fights. Still, there had to be something he could do. 

When they stopped beside a river at midday to water the horses and eat lunch, Lassiter sidled up beside Roberta as she was loosening her horse’s girth. “Do you think we could do something to help Galavant and Isabella?”

Roberta pulled down the stirrup that had been hooked over the saddle horn. “What did you have in mind?”

“We could tie them together around a tree?”

Roberta looked doubtful before grinning at him conspiratorially. “Let’s see if we can’t come up with a better idea.”

They spent the rest of the day walking side by side and whispering to each other. At first they were just discussing plans, but as the afternoon stretched on, the conversation turned to their pasts. Lassiter told her about when he had to move after Juliet accidentally invited every criminal he had ever arrested to his birthday party, and Roberta spoke of the time she snuck into a jousting competition disguised as a man only to discover that literally every competitor was a woman in disguise and how it had really undermined her dramatic reveal upon winning third place. 

Galavant and Isabella watched them closely from their places ahead and behind, respectively. But as they weren’t touching or straight up making out atop one of the horses, they were left alone. 

The sun was just setting when Galavant finally called for a halt. “We’ll make camp here.” He began untying his pack from his saddle.

Lassiter handed off his horse to Roberta with a wink and went over to the knight. “Hey, Galavant, do you think you could chop the firewood?”

Galavant dropped his pack to the ground. “Oh, come on, Richard! It’s not that hard. Even you should be able to figure it out.”

Lassiter hid his eye roll at his friend’s bad mood, which had only been worsening throughout day. He pulled out his sword and made a show of examining it. “Which side do I use on the tree?”

Galavant pulled his axe from where it was strapped to his pack. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He stalked off into the forest.

Lassiter turned to watch Roberta finish convincing Isabella to go and catch their dinner. “I can go if you don’t know how to use it,” Roberta was saying, reaching to take her bow out of Isabella’s hands.

The princess pulled it back. “No, it’s okay! I can do anything if I put my mind to it.” She sounded less than certain about that, but she turned and went with determination behind the trees. 

Lassiter held out his fist, and Roberta grinned as she bumped it with her own. Then they got to work.

Roberta had spotted an uprooted stump a short distance back, and together they were able to roll it to the center of camp. Roberta placed a cloak over the top and lit a few candles as Lassiter gathered some flowers. He then set up the tents while Roberta went off to hunt, coming back a short while later with a rabbit, which she skinned and left next to their makeshift table.

A twig snapped off into the darkness, and Roberta made a dash for some nearby bushes. “Come on!”

“One second,” Lassiter whispered back, turning to Galavant’s tent. Taking out his sword, he cut a long hole in the side before crawling beneath the bushes beside Roberta.

Galavant entered the clearing a moment later, carrying an armful of wood. He dumped it on the ground next to the stump. “Richard? Roberta?” He placed his hands on his hips and looked around. “Great.”

Isabella ran up to the camp then, holding up half a bird absolutely decimated by an arrow. “I got one!” She noticed Galavant standing in the empty camp. “Where did they go?”

Galavant began angrily stacking the wood inside the stone circle that they had left for the fire. “They probably tore each other’s clothes off the minute we left.”

Lassiter felt his face heat, but Roberta had to place her hand over her mouth to muffle her snickering.

“No self control,” Isabella sniffed. “And after we’ve been trying so hard to help them these past few days.”

“I know!” Galavant said, working so vehemently with the tender that it caught flame almost instantly. The wood began to burn, casting a cheery glow around the camp. “You’d think they could make it easier on us every once in a while.”

Isabella skewered the rabbit with a stick and held it over the fire to roast. “Oh my god, and the way they were whispering all day!”

“Probably talking about us.”

“That’s what I thought! They probably think it’s hilarious that we’re fighting.”

Galavant poured two goblets of wine, handing one off to his wife as he took a seat beside her. “And if you think about it, it’s Richard’s fault that we’re fighting in the first place. I mean, if we could just sing one duet, we could express our feelings and make up.”

Isabella cast a curious look up at the darkened sky. “Speaking of which, do you hear music?”

“Ugh, crumhorns.” Galavant took over turning the rabbit over the fire. “I have the lyrics all figured out too. I’d tell you how much I loved you and how I actually really like it when you boss me around. And how you were totally right that I did say ‘goodnight’ forcefully.”

Isabella hummed in agreement. “And I’d apologize for stepping on your foot and calling you a washed up knight. And then there’d be a verse about how sexy you were teaching Richard how to fight yesterday.”

“Ha! If you can call it fighting.”

From their place beneath the bushes, Roberta crossed her arms in front of her and rested her head on top of them. Lassiter thunked his head down onto the ground in frustration more than once, but he had to admit that at least the two were laughing, even if it was at their expense.

When they finished dinner and the bottle of wine, Galavant rose to his feet. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to wait up for them.”

“We can catch them doing the walk of shame tomorrow morning.” 

Galavant finally noticed the state of his sleeping arrangements. “What the hell did he do to my tent?! Seriously, how hard is it to set up without tearing it?”

Isabella wrapped her arms around his waist in sympathy. “Well, there’s plenty of room in mine. Would you care to join me, Gal?”

Galavant scooped her into his arms so fast that she squealed, and he pressed his lips to hers. Isabella moaned in response. 

Lassiter glanced towards Roberta. “We should—”

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

They crawled out the back of the bushes as quietly as possible. Lassiter smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, half to clean off the dirt and half to quell the nervousness at finally able to be alone with Roberta rising in his stomach.

She smiled up at him. “Want to go for a ride?”

Lassiter nodded, instantly forgetting how sore he still was. 

They untied Roberta’s mare from the string of horses, and Roberta swung onto the mare’s back with no saddle. She held a hand down, and Lassiter managed to pull himself up with dignity intact. 

They rode double into a nearby field, which was lit here and there with fireflies. It was full night now, but the moon was rising and there were seemed to be hundreds of thousands of stars overhead.

Lassiter was so focused on not knowing what to do with his hands or legs that he almost missed it when Roberta turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Hold on to me.”

He did as told, wrapping his arms about her waist. He was then jerked back and nearly off the horse as Roberta kicked the animal into a run.

Most of Roberta’s hair in his face, Lassiter did his best to stay on as the trees flew past. Roberta let out a whoop of joy as they picked up speed. 

They broke through the woods to an inlet leading out to the sea, the waters dark blue with the enormous yellow moon rising over them. “Woah,” he breathed, raising a hand to feel the wind rushing over it as they galloped along the beach. 

And in that moment, with his wife in his arms and his heart racing in time to the hoofbeats beneath him, Lassiter realized that he didn’t want to go back to his old life.

He leaned forward to speak into Roberta’s ear over the rush of wind. “Let’s stop for a minute.”

They settled on the ground under the shelter of a tree overlooking the water, Lassiter with his back to the trunk and Roberta resting up against him. And for a long time there was nothing but the waves lapping up on the shore and the two of them.

“I love my job. I’m proud of the things I’ve done as a cop,” Lassiter finally said.

Robert didn’t seemed fazed by the choice of topic. “You should be. You’ve helped people.”

“And I have hobbies. I’m supposed to play a lieutenant general in a Civil War reenactment out by San Francisco in July.” He reached out to point at the water as if a fantasy version of California were somewhere over the horizon. “I just got a Netflix account!”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Lassiter dropped his hand to hold her again. “There are so many reasons why I should be doing everything I can to wake up. But I don’t want to. I think…I don’t want to go back.”

Roberta turned around to kneel between his legs, voice steady with conviction. “You won’t have to. Remember what I said back in that other world? You can stay here with me forever.”

There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he had over thirty years of experience that there was no such thing as magic, that he was going to wake up in hospital bed irreparably damaged because he had allowed himself to have something that wasn’t real, but it was drowned out as Lassiter pulled Roberta forward and finally, finally kissed her.

He had imagined this moment to some detail over the past few days, but all his plans were quickly forgotten when Roberta pushed him flat on his back before following him down to attack his mouth again. His hands reached out to clumsily run down her sides. She made a small pleased sound at the touch that went straight through him.

He was so distracted what her mouth was doing to him that he didn’t even notice that she had managed to get his doublet open until her hands were on his chest. He broke their kiss to try and reach for her own lacings, barely noticing that he was shaking. 

His eyes flew open when her lips brushed over his collarbone, a place he would have sworn up and down had no erotic association for him at all.

“How—how did—?” he tried, panting. 

She only responded with a giddy smile, then leaned down to nip at the same place, making him gasp out her name. 

Roberta froze, then drew back to look down at him with wide eyes.

Lassiter frowned back at her, wondering dazedly why she had stopped. Then his mind reengaged and he realized with growing horror that he had cried out, “Bobby,” right there in the middle of the woods.

“Oh, no,” he said, scrambling to sit up and reaching for her. “Roberta, I swear it’s not—”

She leaned down to kiss him fiercely. She was smiling and her eyes shone when she allowed him to breathe again. “That’s my name. A nickname you used to call me.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling back at her in an onrush of emotion he wasn’t capable of identifying. 

He reached for her again, only for Roberta to sit up, her attention caught by something off to her right. 

Lassiter craned his neck to follow her gaze, and there was that bloody sword from the castle. It was stuck in a stump this time, with the moonlight shining down from overhead like a spotlight. 

He flung a frustrated hand out at it. “Seriously?!” 

Roberta’s mouth was parted. “That’s the Hero Sword.” She looked back down at him. “That’s your sword.”

Lassiter flopped his head back down onto the grass. They could get into a whole discussion about how it couldn’t be his sword. About how he had tried to pull it out of a flagstone in the throne room, and it hadn’t moved an inch, and what that could possibly mean. But most of his thought processes were absorbed with the fact that he was lying on the forest floor with his shirt half off and the woman he belonged to straddling him. 

He shrugged up at her, hands going to her hips. “Talk about it later?”

She blinked down at him before grinning. “Yeah, all right.”

And as she proceeded to give him a very thorough demonstration of her knowledge of his body, Lassiter, for once in his life, stopped overthinking the future and let someone else take control. 

And when they rode back to camp some time later, Lassiter grasping her about the waist and sleepily resting his chin on her shoulder, both of them had quite forgotten about the sword.


	10. Chapter 10

Roberta woke just before dawn, well-rested despite them not making it back to her tent until late. She peered over her shoulder at Carlton who had one arm thrown over her waist and his nose buried in her hair. Her heart swelled at his relaxed expression, so different from the tension she had seen him carry since he had found her in that park. For a man who she suspected wasn’t used to being vulnerable with anyone, he had been open and giving with her the night before, and she had worked hard to reward him for his trust. 

It did leave her to wonder how he would react once he woke up. She was starting to learn that leaving him to fret over things in his own mind only led to to him coming to the wrong conclusions. 

Well, she had a counterattack ready for that. Rolling over, she murmured his name and waited as he stirred. 

“Good morning,” she whispered. 

“Morning,” he said in soft wonder. When she leaned forward to kiss him, his eyes stayed open as if worried that she might vanish.

She pulled back before they could get too distracted, smiling at his noise of protest. “Come on. We need to be the first ones up so we can shame Gal and Izzy for sleeping in.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Good idea.” But he caught her arm when she made to rise. “You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“About last night? Of course not!”

“Not that.” Even in the dim morning light, she could see him flushing. “I thought you may have expected me to remember, after…everything.”

Roberta breathed out a sigh. Leave it to Carlton to somehow manage to incorrectly guess what she was feeling while he wasn’t even awake. “I didn’t sleep with you to break some curse or whatever nonsense. Sex, or even kissing, never solves everything. I slept with you because I love you and wanted to be close to you.” She dropped down so they were nose to nose. “Does that answer your question?”

He nodded dumbly. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and exited the tent. 

“We are not taking down the whole camp after we had to set everything up,” he said as he followed her.

They stood in front of the other tent, muffling their laughter before Carlton leaned down outside the front flap to shout, “Galavant? Isabella? Time to get up!” 

There was a cry of surprise from inside the tent and the fabric shook as the occupants scrambled up. A figure that was likely Galavant hit one of the ropes keeping the tent up, collapsing the entire structure.

Still struggling to contain her laughter, Roberta added, “Can you believe the laziness of our traveling companions, Richard? They’ve been sleeping half the morning away.”

“Too right, Bobby. It’s a good thing they have us to set a good example.”

Galavant and Isabella emerged their demolished tent, Gal shirtless and Isabella using a blanket to cover herself. The sight of their tangled hair, staticky from the fabric of their tent, sent Carlton and Roberta into fits of giggling. 

“All right, you’ve had your fun,” Galavant muttered. “Now go off and let us get dressed in peace. You can get the horses ready.”

“Yeah,” Isabella said, somehow managing to look dignified despite half her hair in her face. “You owe us after running off last night.”

Roberta gave her a mischievous smile, wrapping an arm around Carlton’s waist. “Oh? You wanted to hear about what we did last night?”

She only heard the opening chord on a piano before Gal and Izzy both jammed their fingers in their ears and started yelling “no!” at the top of their voices. 

Laughing, Roberta turned away to give them some privacy and feed and water the horses. Carlton gave her a wink and went to pack up their tents. 

Roberta handed out the dried meat and berries that they had brought along for breakfast as they mounted up. Galavant and Isabella still seemed somewhat miffed at first, but the sunny morning and food soon had everyone cheerful and talking amongst themselves again. 

Galavant eventually pulled ahead and had his horse sidestep so he could see them all. “Right. We’d better go over our plan for when we reach Lady Constance’s.” 

“Step one,” Roberta said. “Suffer through a long dinner of bland food and passive aggressive conversation.”

Carlton was looking down the road ahead with determination. “Step two: use my influence as king to get invited to stay the night.”

“Third,” Isabella said. “We sneak out under cover of darkness and climb the neighboring castle walls.” She brandished a grappling hook, which she had been practicing with non-stop the past few days. 

“Or, you know, just sneak in through the gate,” Galavant added. He held up his hands in a placating gesture when she eyed him. “And finally, we secretly infiltrate the castle and look for any signs of Madalena or the DEL.”

Carlton absently pulled loose a lock his his horse’s mane that had become stuck under the blanket. “And what do we do if we find them?”

Galavant looked dramatically off into the distance, directing his horse to walk forward again. “We kill them.”

“I meant more how we’re supposed to do that.”

“We’ll have to figure all that out once we reach the reconnaissance part.” He waved back at them.

They moved to ride more or less in a line after that, Gal in front, then Izzy, followed by Carlton. Roberta trailed behind, mostly to give her mare more of a rest after their run the night before but also to do some brooding of her own.

It seemed to her that Galavant’s plan, or rather the part that they would think up later, was already relying too heavily on magic not working on Carlton. Everyone seemed to be forgetting that Madalena also preferred to fight with a pike, and she didn’t think that he would be immune to that. 

Plus, she wasn’t sure how long the immunity would last. Their world had started to fall back in place long before the previous night. And she saw more signs everywhere they went. Around midday they passed through a town with music distinctly playing in everyone’s minds, but no one knew the choreography. And Carlton had picked up a slight accent sometime in the last day. 

All too soon they were standing before Lady Constance’s stoop. Roberta looked glumly up at the banner hanging over the door. It read “Welcome King Richard (and Roberta).” Her name had been embroidered in tiny letters near the bottom, and she didn’t think it was being overly touchy to assume that her title had been left off on purpose. 

Galavant stepped forward to pull the bell, and a trio of tiny chimes played a brief refrain. “Bit pretentious,” he muttered. 

The door creaked open, and Roberta took a deep breath to calm her vague anxiety. She reached out and took Carlton’s hand as they stepped inside.

They found themselves in a long hallway lit with torches. A few tables littered with glass trinkets were resting against the walls. And the drapes, table cloths, and embroidered rugs on the floor were all black. All told, it made for a very dank atmosphere. 

Galavant turned to greet the servant who had let them in, but he was interrupted by Lady Constancy’s high and scratchy voice calling as she approached from down the hall. “King Richard! I am so pleased that you have come to visit me in my home. How was your journey?”

“Awful,” Carlton said, looking at the skulls embroidered into a long length of cloth that had been hung in waves down the ceiling. When Isabella subtly stepped backward onto his foot, he startled and added, “Thank you for inviting us.”

Beaming, Lady Constance took his arm, practically jerking him, and consequently, Roberta, forward. “I just hate travel. All that dust, and having to look at nothing but peasants every time you pass through a town. Of course, I don’t mind traveling to your court. Even if members of the less fashionable casts attend as well.”

Roberta peered past Carlton’s chest at Lady Constance. “I see you’ve had time to make use of the decorations we gave you.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Constance said, giving Roberta a passing glance. “It does remind me a bit of the funeral decor we had after my poor Horace passed. But nothing wrong with remembering him even after the year of mourning.”

Roberta looked with guilt at the skulls on the ceiling and fell back beside Carlton.

Lady Constance led them through a set of enormous double doors at the end of the hall into the dining room. “I have prepared the most lavish welcoming feast. You must try the crab dip. It will be on everyone’s tables this winter. But first I have a little surprise for you, your majesty.”

“Oh?” Carlton said, pulling out one of the chairs for Roberta. 

“Since you were so interested in perhaps painting my castle to match my neighbor’s, I invited him to join us!” She gestured to a servant to open a pair of side doors. “Introducing the Lord Hemlock.”

The door swept open, parting the smoke that lingered in the air. And there in the darkened room beyond stood a tall, gaunt man dressed in a drab black robe. He was quite old, with no beard and snow white hair receded back over his forehead. 

He seemed to glide into the dining room. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, King Richard,” he said in a low voice. He stopped when he stood across the table from Carlton. “Or should I say, Detective Carlton Lassiter of Santa Barbara?”

Roberta only had time to register Carlton’s surprised expression before she drew her sword. Galavant and Isabella followed suit, though they looked more confused than anything. Lady Constance made an offended sound at the rudeness of her guests.

Carlton placed a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, expression changing to more wary but calculating. “I assume you’re the DEL everyone keeps telling me about?”

“I am. And I assume—”

The DEL didn’t have the chance to finish his assumption as Carlton used the back of the chair to vault onto the table, sliding across on his knees and drawing his sword. Galavant too charged forward with sword raised. 

The DEL flicked his wrist and a gaudily carved purple stone slid into his palm. He waved it, and Roberta was jerked forward as her sword flew out of her hand. Similar clanging from across the room told her that the same had happened to Galavant and Isabella. 

Undead servants began pouring into the room from the doors behind them. Seeing themselves vastly outnumbered, Roberta and Isabella raised their hands in surrender. A dead man fell sideways into Galavant’s legs, taking him to the floor.

When the undead around her went still, awaiting further commands, Roberta ignored them in favor of standing on her toes to see Carlton over their heads.

He had landed on his feet on the other side of the table with his sword still in hand and started forward towards the DEL. A line appeared between Hemlock’s brows as he waved the wand again. This time, Carlton’s sword turned into a bouquet of black roses, and Roberta felt her heart sink. 

Everyone else, even the undead horde, turned to stare at Hemlock as he hit his wand against the side of the table. “This blasted thing!”

Carlton’s hand jerked out of reflex, dropping the roses to the floor. He stopped in his tracks and stared down at them in shock. 

The DEL smoothed his robes. “That will have to do. Now, it appears that Carlton and I have some things to work on. Why don’t I send you all somewhere more comfortable?”

Roberta felt her blood run cold. “Santa Barbara?” How in the world would they ever get home?

“No, I meant the dungeons.” 

Lady Constance crawled out from where she had been hiding under a sideboard. “I did not give you permission to use my dungeon. How dare—”

Hemlock gave her an impatient glance. “Take her down to the cellars. Not even I’m evil enough to lock the others in a cell with her. Oh, but Lady Constance? Thank you for the invitation to dinner. I’m sure the crab dip would have been delicious.”

“Unhand me!” Lady Constance cried as all of them except for Carlton were hauled out the door.

“Richard, don’t believe in yourself!” Galavant called back over his shoulder. When the dining room doors slammed shut behind them before he could respond, he added, “Well, that could have gone better.”

Roberta, stumbling as she was practically shoved down the stairs to the dungeons, turned to snarl at Lady Constance, “You are the worst!”

******

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real, Lassiter repeated to himself, unable to take his eyes off the black roses as two men chained him up between the stone pillars at the end of the dining room. Considering all he had been through the past few days, it shouldn’t have been so shocking. He had reached into a live dragon’s mouth only a few days before. But this was the first time he had really seen magic in this world. 

His head ached dully as he sized up Hemlock’s tacky wand, and he wished that he could take off his crown. 

The DEL was examining Lassiter from head to foot with interest. “So, you’re what’s been messing with magic these past few days.”

“There’s no such thing,” Lassiter responded, testing the strength of the shackles around his wrists by tugging downwards.

Hemlock was on him in an instant, fisting his hands in the front of Lassiter’s shirt and pulling him forward as far as the chains would go. “You fool,” he said voice slow with fury. “Do you know what your unbelief has done to this world?”

Feet threatening to be lifted off the floor, Lassiter asked, “Is this about all the bloody singing?”

The DEL’s furious snarl vanished, and he let go of Lassiter’s shirt, sending him stumbling backwards. “Let me let you in on a secret.” And with that he pulled upon his robes. Lassiter cringed away in horror at the expectation of seeing a horrible wrinkled chest, but instead his eyes were assaulted by a bright red plaid shirt with matching trousers. 

“What the hell?”

“You’ve cursed us all,” the DEL said, pulling the flannel away from his skin. “That first day Madalena brought you and the woman back here, all of our beautiful, expensive, tasteful clothes turned tacky and…polyester. We knew exactly where you were. We could have killed you at any moment. But we didn't dare show ourselves outside the castle.”

“Wait,” Lassiter shook his head, trying to grasp the scope of the scenario. “You’re saying your whole evil plan was derailed over clothes?”

“Beautiful clothes! And accessories.” Seeing Lassiter still staring at him in confusion, he added, “I’m also a fashion consultant.”

“Of course you are,” Lassiter muttered, shaking his head. “So that's your whole evil plot then? To kill me?”

“Hmm, it may come to that. But right now I need you to kill my apprentice.”

“Never—" Lassiter snarled before stopping to blink at the evil Lord. “Wait? What?”

“She failed to take control of your kingdom,” the DEL said, counting off Madalena’s sins on long bony fingers. “She used a spell beyond her abilities and erased your memories. And after I sent her to retrieve you, she loses you again. I do not tolerate failures, especially tacky ones.”

“What makes you think I can murder her?” He gave the chains around his wrists a pointed look.

“You’re the one true king to unite them all. Or at least you were before you were It’s a Miserable Lifed. When Madalena signed her soul away in exchange for the D’DEW, she also agreed to abide by the fine print which read that only the bearer of the Hero Sword can kill her. Nobody ever reads the fine print.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “I may have supposed amnesia but I’m not stupid. You’ll just kill me once I’ve done your murder for you.”

“I wouldn’t kill you. One true kings to unite them all don’t come around every century, you know. I may take control of your mind and rule through you though. That’s definitely a possibility.”

“And if I don’t agree you’ll kill the others?”

“You were right when you said you weren’t stupid,” the DEL said. He then turned to his servants, all of whom reminded him an awful lot of the orderly in the mental hospital, if only because of their smell. “Go and fetch Madalena.”

He then snapped his fingers. “But more importantly, I can’t attend the murder of my apprentice dressed like this. Let’s see if I can’t finally get out of this abomination of an outfit.” On cue, another servant rolled in a rack of clothing from the adjoining room. 

Hemlock pulled two shirts from off the rack, holding them up. “Which do you prefer? The blue or the brown?”

“I don’t care.” And then, “The blue.”

 

*****

Roberta stumbled forward as she was shoved into the stone cell, dodging out of the way a moment later as Galavant and Isabella were thrown in after her. If there was any consolation to be had at being in a dungeon, it was that they were finally away from all the black fabrics. 

The dungeon was situated in a narrow room lit with a single torch by the door. It had only two cells, both secured with thick metal bars. The other cell had a few pieces of old furniture stacked inside, including a rickety chair, dresser, and bed half covered in a pile of straw. It seemed Lady Constance used her dungeon mainly for storage.

Galavant went to the bars and tried pushing open the door. It creaked a bit but did not move. “Worth a try.”

Roberta listened for music, even a despairing tune about being trapped in a dungeon would have worked, but there was only the clamor of her thoughts. Well, at least magic still wasn’t working properly, though that was small comfort when her husband was trapped upstairs with a dark evil lord. 

Isabella made a pleased sound upon seeing that the window didn’t have any bars. She leaned out halfway to look around. “I think I’ve found our way out.”

Roberta perked up at that and went over to have a look herself. There were about thirty feet of sheer stone wall below, followed by a steep cliff dropping off into a forest. “We’d never survive the climb down.”

“I rather thought that we could climb up.” And with that, she pulled up her skirts to reveal the grappling hook strapped to her thigh.

Roberta made an impressed noise. “How did you walk like that?”

“Not easily.” Untying the hook, Isabella went to the window and leaned out. Galavant ran forward to catch her about the waist when she almost toppled into the open air. Isabella swung the hook in a circle, then flung it upwards. There was a clang as it hit the castle wall, then it plummeted back down. Isabella grunted as the rope nearly slid out of her hands.

She peered back at them over her shoulder. “Gal, can you twist me around? I think I can do it if I’m facing up.”

Galavant obeyed, and Roberta got a hold onto her ankles so they could push her a bit farther out the window. 

Teeth gritted with effort, Isabella tossed the grappling hook back up again. It caught for just a moment before pulling free, this time almost hitting Isabella in the chest. 

After ten failed attempts, Roberta leaned forward, trying to hide her impatience. “Maybe I can try?”

So then she had Galavant and Izzy grabbing her about the waist and legs and hoisting her out the window. Roberta closed her eyes for a moment, picturing herself scaling the wall and swinging through the windows to rescue Carlton. Then she threw the hook. It clattered against the stones and came right back down.

She tried it again and again until her arms shook with exhaustion but could never get a good hold on the castle walls. 

“All right,” Galavant said, hauling her back in. “Let me handle this.”

Isabella rolled her eyes but went to get a hold onto his belt. Roberta wrapped her shaking arms around both his legs, grunting as they pushed him out over the forest below. He was heavy with muscle, and she could tell that Izzy was worried that he might slip free. 

Galavant swung the hook in a large arch and let the momentum carry it upwards. It clanged loudly against the stones and fell back. “Argh, this thing is rigged!”

“It needs to come down at an angle,” Izzy instructed.

“Didn’t work for you on any of your hundred tries.”

“Sorry, who was it that practiced with the grappling hook for hours while you were busy teaching Richard how to pose heroically?”

Galavant twisted back to glare at her, nearly hitting himself in the face with the hook. “A king should have presence—”

“Would you all just shut up!” a voice from inside the dungeon yelled at them. 

Roberta jumped, losing her grip on Galavant’s legs. She scrambled forward, latching on to his boots before he and Izzy could both go out the window. As she helped the princess drag him back inside, she turned her head towards the other cell, and there was Madalena sitting up from where she had been hiding in the pile of straw.

Galavant gaped at her as his feet found solid ground again. “Madalena? What the hell happened to you?”

It was a fair question. Madalena was dressed in an ugly brown dress with several tears in the fabric. Her tangled hair hung in unwashed clumps about her face. She looked surprised upon recognizing her fellow inmates, then her face morphed into a self-pitying scowl. “Of course. Just when I thought that this day couldn’t get any worse.”

Isabella wasn’t even trying to hide her smirk. “Nice outfit. Is it new? And you must tell me who did your hair.”

That got the former queen out of the bed and storming up to the bars. Even dressed in rags, she still looked somewhat regal in Roberta’s opinion. “I’ll have you know that this was a handmade silk sweetheart neckline gown with jewel stitching only three days ago.”

Galavant had his head cocked, peering at her hair. “Your earrings…” 

Roberta only got a glimpse of the most tacky pieces of jewelry she’d ever laid eyes on before Madalena let out a tearful gasp and, pulling her hair forward to hide her ears, turned her back on them.

And despite the fact that this woman had taken literally her entire world away from her, Roberta felt a glimmer of pity at seeing her in this state. She remembered briefly speaking with Gareth about her before he went away to try and save her. He had really cared for her.

Roberta approached the other cell, resting a hand on the bars. “What happened to your earrings, Madalena?”

“They turned into these awful things!” Madalena cried, back still to them. “They won’t come off! And I’m stuck in these clothes. Something went wrong when I tried to drag you and that Richard imposter back here.”

Isabella snickered from beside her, and Roberta gave her a stern look before turning back to Madalena. “What are you doing in the dungeon?”

“It’s so unfair!” Madalena stalked across the cell, pulling at the unflattering neckline of her sackcloth. “I obey every one of his orders, including sneaking into your little party in an ugly disguise, and then I show some real initiative by trying out a new spell, while I might add that my head was about to be cut off, and then I accidentally brainwash the one true king. And for these few small mistakes I’m just tossed into a dungeon as a ‘time out.’” 

Roberta stepped back from the bars, her will to empathize with Madalena evaporating. 

Galavant spoke up then. “So you’re in a cell, we’re in a cell. We want to kill your master, and it seems to me that you would want to as well. So…” He trailed off suggestively, motioning between both their parties.

Madalena laughed cruelly. “You can’t just kill the DEL, you moron. He makes Wormwood look like a birthday party magician. The DEL’s dedication to the art of pure evil makes him undefeatable, even if we were able to fix whatever Richard being gone did to the magic.”

“Does everything have to be about Richard?” Galavant asked. 

“We brought Richard with us,” Isabella said. “Assuming the DEL hasn’t killed him already.” She winced at Roberta’s severe expression. 

Madalena only crossed her arms. “You don’t mean that inane detective from back in Santa Barbara, do you? Even if he isn’t a twin from another world, he’s not the one true king if he believes he’s someone else.”

“That’s a lie,” Roberta snarled, surprising even herself with her vehemence. “He is Richard. Even without his memories, who he is on the inside hasn’t changed.”

Madalena gave her a look that was both pitying and smug. “If that’s so, then shouldn’t his memories have come back already? I assume you’ve tried true love’s kiss. Or is it that Richard doesn’t really love you on the inside now?”

Even after everything that had happened, that jab still stung. Roberta looked away to hide her flinch.

Madalena tilted her head in mock sympathy. “Of course, if it were me, I wouldn’t want him to remember anyway. Not if I’d gotten attached to this new Richard. You know what happens if you break the curse? He gets his old memories back, but he loses everything he knew as a detective, even these last few days.”

Roberta fought to keep her expression even, but her entire body went cold. If Carlton was Richard deep down, then that meant that Richard was Carlton deep down, but the thought of Carlton’s memories being erased still felt like losing another part of her husband. 

She knew that she would always love him, no matter who he thought he was. But decades of memories were a lot to give up either way. How could she ask that of him?

Seeing her friend falter, Isabella jumped in with a derisive snort. “You don’t know anything about breaking the curse. You didn’t even believe he was Richard two seconds ago.”

“Yeah,” Galavant said. “And what do you even know about love? Roberta told us what you did to Gareth. And Sid, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, he’s gone too,” Madalena said, chin raised in defiance. 

“You’ll pay for that,” Galavant growled, hand going to where his sword used to hang. 

Madalena smiled, mouth opened to respond, when the door to the dungeon swung open. An undead servant stumbled into the room. It moaned incoherently, swinging a rotting arm back at the stairs before pulling out a set of keys. It managed to drop them twice before finally making it to the door of Madalena’s cell. It poked at the lock with the first key, missing repeatedly as Madalena watched with growing frustration. 

When it finally got the key in but it wouldn’t turn, it dropped the keys again, and Madalena stomped forward. “Let me do it, you imbecile.” She snagged the keys from the ground and unlocked her cell door. 

When she tried to storm past, the undead servant blocked her, turning toward the other cell with a groan. Rolling her eyes, Madalena unlocked their door and soon Roberta, Galavant, and Isabella were stepping out into the larger room.

Galavant went up on his toes for a moment in preparation of rushing their jailer, but Isabella put a hand on his chest, nodding up at the dungeon steps. Roberta could hear moans from the stairway beyond.

The undead servant rambled up the stairs, tumbling down once before getting its footing. Roberta was amazed that it still had all its limbs at this point. 

Sure enough, the main hall was bustling with at least thirty other undead, all of them carrying shoes, belts, and other items of clothing to and from the dining room. The door was slightly ajar, and Roberta could hear instrumental brassy music with lots of percussion emanating from inside. 

Madalena looked in confusion at the new decorations strewn about Lady Constance’s hall. “What the hell is my decor doing here?” Then she noticed the servants carting around the expensive clothing and stalked forward towards the dining room, throwing the doors open.

The DEL was strutting on top of the long dining table, decked out in a rich yellow robe with leather pointed shoes. Every available chair was either draped with fabrics or stacked high with shoes. 

Carlton was seated to the side, feet up on the table. He was wearing a fur coat and at least five different necklaces. “I think it needs a scarf. Where’s the royal blue one with the gold stitching?” 

He turned to dig through the pile in the chair beside him and noticed the bewildered group standing by the door. “Roberta!”

The DEL turned upon hearing his pleased cry and smirked. “Oh, good, Madalena, you’re here. What are you wearing?”

Madalena crossed her arms a hair self-consciously. “What on God’s flat earth is going on here?”

“Fashion show,” Carlton said, struggling to take the necklaces off over his crown. “The DEL and I have been having a good talk.”

“And a good time,” the DEL agreed. 

Madalena pushed past the servant blocking her way and went to stand at the foot of the table. “But this was our thing!”

“And after your failures forced me to wear a plaid onesie for two days, it stopped being our thing.”

“So that’s it then? You’re taking him on as your apprentice?” She flung a pointed finger out a Carlton.

“What? No,” the DEL said, stepping down onto a chair and then onto the ground. “But Carlton and I have come to a bit of an agreement. This whole evil lord thing, what has it really brought me? A closet full of tacky clothing and a depressing castle on a mountain that is very difficult to climb.”

He came round to stand by Carlton, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s time I did the fashion consulting full-time, maybe get into designing my own line. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

Carlton gave him an approving nod. “You’ll find it much more rewarding than a life of crime.”

Galavant nudged two guards aside to step between them. “Hang on, I’m all for redemption arcs, but how do we know we can trust this guy? I mean his real name is Hemlock for goodness’ sakes.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Carlton said. He turned his head to catch Roberta’s eye. “I’m planning on sticking around, after all.”

“And I mean, let’s get real here,” the DEL said, examining a nail. “Had any of you even heard of me before a few months ago? The most evil thing I’d done is wear luxury purple loungewear to the the reveal of the Lady Coco’s Peasant line.”

When Galavant still didn’t look convinced, the DEL snapped his fingers. “How about this?” He pulled out his wand. Everyone tensed up for a moment, but he only handed it over to Carlton. “No more magic. I’m done. I’m tired.” 

Carlton turned his gaze to Madalena, who was making incoherent noises of disbelief. “So how about it, Madalena?” He approached her slowly, hands out at his sides. “Aren’t you tired of it all too? Being alone, struggling for empty power, where’s it all leading?”

He had never seemed more like the one true king than in that moment, and Roberta felt her eyes welling up. Richard the mediator, who united kingdoms and stopped wars.

Madalena’s eyes were wide and fearful. “What do I have left without power?”

He held out a hand toward her. “Why don’t you come and find out?”

For a moment, all was still, but her eyes fell on the DEL, and there was nothing but pure contempt in them.“You’re weak.” She turned her wrist, and her wand slid into her palm as she turned her attention back on Carlton. “It’s too late.” Then she pointed it at him, and a shot of purple light hit him in the chest.

Carlton hit the ground, his eyes open and unseeing, and Roberta felt as if all the air in the room had vanished, leaving her gasping and cold.

Several things happened at once then. Madalena’s potato sack dress shimmered into black silk with jeweled stitching. She pointed her wand at the DEL next, shouting “D’DEW!” A purple shot of magic raced towards him, and he barely managed to roll out of the way. He snatched up his fallen wand, now elegantly curved and made of shining black stone, and fired back at her. And the undead guards started attacking everyone in the room, including each other.

Roberta barely noticed any of it beyond a vague inclination not to get killed as she dodged her way to Carlton’s side. Her hands searched his chest for injury, but the only thing she could feel was that he wasn’t breathing.

The music started then, loud and chaotic. Hemlock and Madalena circled each other, snapping their fingers to the tune of “Well, well, well, you’re taking on the DEL.” Galavant had stolen a sword from one of the undead, and Isabella had produced her grappling hook from some unknown place, and they were singing the duet “Fighting With, Not Against You” as they fought off the undead guards.

And Roberta. She only distantly heard the soft sound of a piano with lyrics something along the lines of “don’t leave me,” but she was crying too hard to voice them.


	11. Chapter 11

Lassiter opened his eyes. At first there was nothing but white. Then, as he blinked, the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling swam into focus. Not the thick stone of the castle, but the popcorn ceiling of his apartment. His hands clenched around the fabric of his blue duvet.

Heart pounding, he sat up. There was his dresser, his neatly organized closet, even the glass of water half empty on his bedside table. 

He was back in Santa Barbara. 

“No,” he said, voice breaking. 

He scrambled to his feet, then turned in a helpless circle beside his bed. What could he do? What could he possibly do to get himself back home? What if Madalena killed Roberta and his friends while he was stuck helplessly hundreds of years away?

His breathing was becoming hitched and raspy when his eyes fell on the wall above the bed. There was a tapestry of a dragon hanging there, and that had certainly not been there before. In fact, it was the same tapestry that hung above his bed back at the castle. 

Lassiter nearly ran for the bedroom door. The hallway outside was made of stone with a few side tables that he was sure he recognized. The mirror at the end of the hall was from his Santa Barbara home, but the torches and paintings were all from the castle.

Lassiter let out a relieved breath and rested a hand against the doorframe. Sure, he had no idea just what Madalena had done to him, but it didn’t seem as hopeless now.

He froze when the sound of footsteps reached his ears. There was a blue flickering light coming from around the corner at the end of the hall, and as he watched, a shadow moved back and forth across the floor.

Vaguely horrified by the thought of whatever creature could lurk within his subconscious, Lassiter moved forward. 

His hand went for a sword that wasn’t there as he rounded the corner, but it wouldn’t have mattered, because it was only a man standing in a melded version of the throne room and living room.

His flowing hair hung almost to his shoulders, matching a salt and pepper beard. He wore a gray and black tooled doublet over black trousers. And his dark blue eyes were staring right back at him. 

Lassiter managed to ask, “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” the other man replied. “Or rather, a manifestation of the memories you lost.”

“King Richard,” Lassiter said, approaching.

Richard gave him a toothy grin. “Hello.”

They stood face to face now, each one eyeing the other. Lassiter was amazed at the otherness and yet familiarity of the man before him. The mouth was gentler, more inclined to smile, but the eyes, those were the same ones that he saw in the mirror each morning.

“So, what? Did Madalena use the Miserable Life spell on me again? Have I been erased from existence?”

“No, she just straight up killed you.”

“Dammit!” Lassiter threw up his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? I can’t stay here.”

Richard shrugged. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Death’s not that permanent here.”

“So how do I wake up? And back in Constance’s castle, not Santa Barbara this time.”

“I think,” Richard said, turning on a heel to point towards the thrones, “that might have something to do with it.”

The Hero Sword was sticking out of the coffee table in front of the thrones. It gleamed in the dim light of the room, and fog swirled about the blade.

Lassiter’s hands fell to his sides. “I tried pulling it before. It didn’t work.”

Richard came up beside him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “That’s because you spent half the night thinking you were in a dream and the other half kicking yourself for not being good enough for Roberta.” He spun Lassiter around to face him again. “So the question is, Carlton Lassiter, who are you?”

Lassiter remembered Roberta asking him that same question a lifetime ago in his car. He remembered his response then, and then how he felt now. “I’m a king who helps his subjects and has a woman who loves him,” he said in wonder. 

Images lit in his mind like beams of light. Playing hide and go seek with Roberta as children. The day he had graduated from the policy academy. Horseback riding, drinking coffee, swimming in the moat, chasing down Cogniti, jumping in front of Roberta before the spell could kill her…

Lassiter opened his eyes, and the world clicked back into place. 

He and Richard turned as one to face the sword and walked side by side to stand before it.

Richard nodded down at the hilt. “You can do it.”

“No.” Lassiter met his eyes. “Together.”

They both placed a hand on the pommel. And in his mind, a chorus roared, _To be the king you must receive the sword._

****

Roberta finally managed to unwrench her fingers from around Carlton’s shirt and wrap them around her vanguard. She twisted it until the knife slid out into her palm. Swiping a hand hard across her eyes, she staggered to her feet and turned to the face the battle.

Undead guards lay strewn across the room, fully dead now. Galavant and Izzy were fighting back to back, but they had been maneuvered outside the dining room where more undead were quickly surrounding them. 

The DEL lay dead on the floor, his robes faintly smoking. And Madalena stood over his body. She held up his glowing wand with an expression of triumphant awe. 

Roberta indulged in a brief fantasy of marching over and burying her knife in the witch’s neck. But there were no prophesies about Roberta Steingass. Instead she flipped it so that she held the tip of the blade between two fingers, placed one foot forward, and threw the knife with all her strength. It flew straight and true right into the polished rock wand. 

Madalena yelped as it shattered in her hand. She turned to glare at Roberta, who stood defiantly over her husband’s body. “Oh, you are going to pay for that,” she said, brandishing her own wand.

Roberta, dry-eyed and wrung out, raised her chin and watched as Madalena’s mouth formed the words of the spell. Then she reached into her braids, removed her other hidden blade, and threw it. The knife still caught the wand near her fingers, slicing halfway through the wooden stem so that it hung in two pieces.

The glowing purple light at the tip dissipated, and the remaining undead guards dropped to the ground like lifeless puppets. 

Madalena looked in shock at her broken wand, then turned to glare down at the guards with hands on her hips. “Did none of you idiots even bother disarming the prisoners?”

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Roberta. “That little knife show was very impressive, but you do know that I can do magic without this, right?” She snapped her fingers, and Roberta’s feet fused to the floor as if they too were made of stone. The dining room doors slammed closed, shutting out Galavant and Izzy before they could charge through.

Madalena raised a hand, and a sword from a fallen guard slapped into her palm. “And I can kill you just as easily either way.”

Roberta lowered her hand from its throwing position. She didn’t struggle against the magic holding her in place, but she did ready herself. Even as Madalena cut her to pieces, she would be fighting with everything she had to claw out the witch’s eyes before she died. 

****

Richard opened his eyes. Now the ceiling was made of stone. He was lying flat on his back on the dining room floor, and he had the Hero Sword clutched in one hand. Which was providential, because his wife was standing over him, and Madalena was swinging a sword directly at her. 

Richard forced himself upwards, bringing his sword up and around Roberta and burying it in Madalena’s chest.

She staggered backwards, dropping her own sword and wrapping a weak hand around the hilt. She looked up at him with vague shock. “That’s not fair.” Then she dropped to the floor.

Richard eyed her for a moment to be sure she would stay down, although who really knew these days about that. He started to turn back to see if Roberta had been hurt, but the doors to the dining room burst open. He yanked free his sword and turned, but it was only Galavant and Isabella. 

Galavant skidded to a stop and lowered his sword. “Richard! You’re alive!” He jogged forward to throw his arms around his friend and slap him hard on the back. “What happened?”

Richard grasped the back of the knight’s armor for balance. “I remember again.”

Galavant pulled back, grinning. “Really? Richard, that’s amazing!” 

“Was it Madalena’s spell?” Isabella asked.

“No,” Richard said, although the memory of what had happened after he had been hit with it was fading like dreams often did. “She did kill me. But when I woke up, I had the Hero Sword in my hand, and I knew who I was again.” He looked down at the sword, running his thumb against the pommel. “I think…I had been remembering bit by bit over the last few days, but when I finally had to decide who I really was, it all came back again.”

“Wait. How would you know if it all came back or not?” Galavant said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s Richard’s favorite color?”

“Red,” Richard responded, rolling his eyes. 

“Aha!” Galavant pointed at him before pausing. “Actually, I have no idea if that’s right or not.”

“It was a nice thought though,” Isabella said, rubbing his arm.

Richard suddenly realized that Roberta hadn’t moved from behind them and turned around, heart in his throat. Her face was red and splotchy, but he couldn’t see any injuries. He reached out for her. “Roberta, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just going to go get Lady Constance out of the cellars. Excuse me.” Then she darted for the door.

Richard dropped his hand, rather feeling like he had been hit by the spell all over again. He watched her leave the dining room, then darted after her.

“Roberta, wait! ” He caught up with her just down the hall and fell into step beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll really feel bad if we forget about her again,” she responded, not slowing from her fast walk. “She was trapped down in our cellars for a month before, and I told her she was the worst just now.”

He jumped in front of her so that she nearly ran up against his chest. “I’m all for freeing trapped widows, but why are you crying?”

“Because I’m an awful person!” she exclaimed, swiping at her eyes.

“Because you told old Lady Constance that she was the worst? That wasn’t exactly nice, but she did kind of deserve it.”

“No, that’s not it,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m so, so happy that you’re alive and that you have your memories back. I can barely breathe from it all.” She dropped her arms to her sides, looking into his eyes. “But what about Carlton?”

Something in his chest clenched at hearing the brokenness in her voice, and he dared to reach for her hands. “He’s still me, Roberta. He’s just the version of me that had lived in another world without you. And got really, really into guns.” He shook his head. “But my soul didn’t change, no matter what I remembered.”

“So you have his memories too?”

“Well, they’re more like my memories, but yeah. Can you believe I could drive a car over there?”

Roberta gave a somewhat waterlogged laugh. “They are a little terrifying.”

Richard pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “It is reassuring in a way knowing that I could fall in love with you again even while thinking I was someone else.” He dropped his chin onto the top of her head. “I think it was the moment when I first brought you in to the precinct, and you put your hand on my arm. No one had ever looked at me like that in my entire life. Which is also why it took me so long to realize that I loved you.”

“Last night on the beach,” she asked archly, wrinkling her nose at him.

“Glad I didn’t forget that,” he growled, moving his hands down to rest just above her hips. 

She kissed him then, and Richard responded, reveling in how right it felt. She broke the kiss to grin up at him, resting her forehead against his. And for a moment, they were still, content to be in each other’s presence. 

Roberta hummed the last few bars from their duet before the final battle, and he joined her, their soft voices blending into one.

He was just bending to kiss her again when the front door at the end of the door flew open with a crash that seemed to shake the castle. Through the now gaping doorway charged none other than Rex Machina, glowing crystal ball held out before him, and at his side were Gareth and Sid.

Richard released his death grip on the hilt of his sword. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Rex looked around at the fallen undead with surprise. “I came when all hope seemed lost and death was imminent to save you all.”

“You’re a bit late,” Roberta said.

“I knew he was a fraud,” Richard muttered below his breath to her. He then broke into a grin as he noticed Gareth and Sid. “And you two are alive!” He went over to Gareth and wrapped his arms around the larger man. “Madalena said that she killed you.”

Gareth extricated himself from Richard’s grasp but it was halfhearted. “She tried.”

“She sent us to this awesome other world by accident,” Sid said. 

Richard suddenly noticed that Gareth was dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit with “Lompoc Correctional Facility” stamped across the chest. “Oh my god. Gareth, you were in Santa Barbara? And you went to prison?!”

“It weren’t so bad,” Gareth said with a shrug. “I had my own gang by the end of the first week.”

“And I got a job at Starbucks,” Sid said, pulling on the straps of his green apron. “I’m going to miss the tips.”

“We were there too,” Roberta said, coming up beside them. “But how did you get back?”

“That was me,” Rex Machina said quickly, desperate to prove his importance. “When I felt the curse weakening, I thought I’d try out the World Traveler spell myself. The nexus showed me that there were others from our world trapped over there, and I decided to bring them back for the climactic final battle.” He gave the room another morose glance. “There’s not a single bad guy left?”

“Nope. All dead,” Richard said, the cheer in his voice faltering as Gareth turned to go stand over Madalena’s body.

As Sid ran over to Galavant and Izzy, talking a mile a minute about the life of a barista, Richard went to stand at the former henchman’s side.

After a few minutes, Gareth spoke. “I thought I could save her.”

“She didn’t want to be saved,” Richard said, resting a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “I asked her to come back to the good side, but in the end, that wasn’t her choice.”

Gareth nodded. “She always did things her own way. I hope she finds peace wherever she is.” 

Galavant and the other came over a few minutes later. “Glad to see you’re not dead, Gareth.”

“It is a little unfair though,” Izzy said. “All of you got to see this amazing world with cars and light pollution and frap-a-chinos. I feel like we’ve missed out.”

“Actually,” Richard said, “I’ve just realized that we have one more loose end to tie up.” He looked over to Rex Machina, who was sulking over at the dining room table. “Do you think you’ve got one more World Traveler spell in you?”

******

Epilogue

Juliet O’Hara slid into her side of the booth, accepting a Medieval Days menu from the hostess with a word of thanks.

Shawn slid in across from her, slapping his own menu down onto the wooden table with his palm. “I’m telling you, Jules, something is wrong here. Why would Lassiter just quit? This job is all that he has.”

“Wow, the menu only has grog and giant turkey legs. This place is authentic,” Juliet said, trying to divert Shawn’s attention off of Carlton. He’d been like a broken record over the past day. On one hand, she thought it was sweet of him to be worried about her former partner, but now he was making her nervous that she shouldn’t have shown up with half the force and started digging through the dumpster out back for his body.

“Do you think Lassiter will come with us once we tell him that the Chief wants him back? That has to be why he left in the first place. He must have known that he wasn’t really quitting.” 

“We can ask him when we see him.” Juliet cast a look around the medieval-themed hall. So far they were the only people in the audience, which wasn’t too odd considering that it was the Tuesday at 3 pm matinee in a rundown medieval restaurant two hours outside of town.

The lights went down then, and the show began. Juliet at first could see why the place was nearly abandoned. The production seemed to have been thrown together at the last minute, and the plot line was a little confusing. Something about an evil Lady Constance who took over the throne of the good King Richard and Queen Roberta and then had to be ousted by a noble knight and his lady love. 

However, when the first musical number started, Juliet had to admit that she was impressed. She wasn’t much of a musical person, but the singing and choreography were actually pretty good and fun to watch. 

She was relieved to see Roberta out on stage, looking unharmed and sane at least. Of Madalena there was no sign.

They were about half an hour in to the show when Shawn suddenly grabbed her elbow. “Holy crap, that’s Lassie!”

Juliet looked hard at the sides of the stage. “Behind the curtain?”

“No,” he hissed, pointing. “On stage!”

Juliet squinted in the direction of his finger. Something about the actor did seem familiar… Then he turned and she got a good look at his eyes. “That is Carlton! Oh my god, he really is playing an ineffectual king in a cheesy dinner show.”

And almost more shocking than seeing Carlton with a beard and in medieval costume was the fact that he could sing. He had a pleasing tenor voice that was surprisingly versatile, and she wished that she could have heard him use it more over the years.

Shawn was gripping the edge of the table. “What do we do? Call the Chief? Form an intervention?”

“No, we need to wait.” Juliet caught his arm before he could charge up on stage. “At least we know where he is now.”

She watched Carlton carefully as the show drew to a close, looking for signs of injury, brainwashing, or drugging, although she couldn’t even imagine even a combination of all three forcing her eternally stubborn partner to do anything.

It wasn’t until the finale, when Richard and Roberta shared their final song and then a kiss that went on for an uncomfortably long time, that she started to understand. The rest of the acting was only okay, but when they looked at each other, it was like they were the only two people in the world. 

“He’s in love,” Juliet said softly to herself. 

Shawn was out of his seat as soon as the cast took their last bow, and Juliet followed him backstage. 

Carlton turned from where he had been talking with the other actors. “O’Hara! Spencer!” 

Shawn grabbed his arm and started to pull him towards the exit. “Don’t worry, Lassie. We’re getting you out of here.”

“No, you’re not,” Carlton responded, yanking his arm free. “I quit, remember?”

“Yeah, but the Chief said she’ll take you back,” Shawn said. 

“I don’t want to go back, Spencer.”

Juliet took in Shawn’s flabbergasted expression and turned to eye her former partner. “How’d you end up in the show, Carlton? I thought you were just going to check up on Roberta.”

“Well, they needed someone to be King Richard,” he said, adjusting his crown. “It’s a bigger part than I ever got in my Civil War reenactments.”

Juliet nodded, but she cast a look at the other cast members. “What happened with Madalena?”

He looked down before responding, “She left the show.” 

Shawn finally found his voice then. “But…but you were singing. And dancing! And in tights!”

Carlton drew himself up, brushing off his leather coat thing. “Just because you’re not secure enough in your masculinity to pull this off doesn’t mean we all are.” 

Shawn’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. He started to respond, but his attention was caught by the animatronic dragon now walking by in the background. “Hey, Lassie, think I could get a selfie with Smaug over there?”

“I wouldn’t,” Carlton said, grimacing. “The, uh, mechanics are a little touchy. Oh, here comes Bobby. Bobby, you remember Juliet and Shawn?”

Roberta, or Bobby apparently, gave them a small wave. “Hello again. I’m glad you got to see our last show.”

“What do you mean ‘last show?’ You’re leaving?” Juliet frowned at them.

“Yeah,” Carlton said, wrapping an arm around Roberta’s waist. “The show’s leaving town, so I’ve decided to use this time between careers to travel with them.”

“But what about your apartment?” Juliet leaned forward to check his breath for alcohol.

“I’ll come pack up my things one of these days.” He rolled his eyes when she pushed up his sleeve to check his arm. “I’m not drugged, and I haven’t gone crazy, O’Hara. I just hadn’t realized how unhappy I was until that last day at the station.” He turned to grin at Roberta. “But now I’ve found something that really matters to me.”

“Musical theater?” Shawn managed to ask before Juliet elbowed him in the ribs. 

The wizard from Act II approached them to murmur to Lassiter, “I’m sorry, your highness, but we really must be going now. The nexus—”

Carlton waved him off. “Of course. Thank you, Rex.” He turned to shake Shawn’s hand. “My only regret is not figuring out how you’ve been able to defraud the entire department, Spencer.” He then enveloped Juliet in a hug. “Good luck with whoever they assign as your next partner, O’Hara. I want to hear about how the Cogniti case ended next time I visit.”

“You got it,” Juliet said, shaking her heard when she felt her eyes start to tear up. 

Giving them a final wave, he and Roberta walked back towards the other medieval players, and Juliet and Shawn headed outside.

“I can’t believe Lassie’s leaving,” Shawn said quietly as they approached Juliet’s car. “Being a detective was everything to him.”

“I think he finally found something more important to him than work,” Juliet responded, hooking his arm through his. “Hey, want to come over and watch a movie?”

“You know I love a good movie night,” Shawn said, tugging on her arm so that their shoulders rubbed together. They were already arguing about which movie to watch as they left the parking lot. 

And unseen behind them, a flash of green light took the cast and crew of Medieval Days home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for joining me for this odd but hopefully super fun little story.


End file.
